A Lapse in Logic
by Lost Dove
Summary: *COMPLETE* R/Hr sixth year. There are a lot of things that seem inexorable - there are so many things we want to remember and yet can't bear to. Fluff, and angst, and two people who can almost figure it out.
1. An Unfortunate Realization

Chapter 1: An Unfortunate Realization  
  
Author's Note: And so it begins. Fluff, angst, and so much more. Please, review, etc. etc. Hope you like it. *smiley* Fluffy goodness! And, next chapter soon.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own it. Really. You really wouldn't want me owning them anyway. Emotional tension would abound! Ehehe..  
  
_I was trying everything that I can  
To get my heart to forget you  
But it just can't seem to  
I guess it's just no use  
In every part of me  
Is still a part of you  
  
-The Cult, "Painted on My Soul"  
  
  
  
"RON!"  
  
Ron's head turned, to see Harry waving at him from a less crowded part of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. With him stood a girl whose chestnut hair was turned away searching elsewhere, but at the shout whipped around to reveal Hermione, who then waved too.  
  
Walking as quickly as he could towards the pair, and trying to avoid crashing into the many students milling around, he tried to act the way he had planned in his room, the careless but cool manner.  
  
It didn't work. Who was he kidding? He couldn't suddenly become the most popular kid in school because of a few talking-tos in his head.  
  
As he reached them, Harry reached out to hug him. "How was your summer? Percy get promoted again yet?"  
  
"Well, once last week, but he says he's definitely due for another one very soon. And his new apartment? Insane! It's packed with paperwork that he's saved from the Mr. Crouch years!"  
  
Hermione laughed, and her brown eyes sparkled. "Well, I've been talking to Harry, and it looks like he's as __dismally behind in reading as I thought he would be. And you'll be no different I suppose?"  
  
Harry and Ron groaned. "Honestly, Hermione," Ron asked, "Aren't you ever going to stop this habit of interrogating us?"  
  
"It's no laughing matter, you two, what if someday there's a pop quiz and you simply aren't prepared? And mid-terms! Those things sneak up, you know!" She paused, then added, "And besides, what would you two ever do if I stopped asking you? You'd probably forget it was school at all!"  
  
Harry smiled, and patted Hermione on the shoulder. "Rant over, Hermione? Good, because I'd like to get this year __really started."  
  
They climbed onto the Hogwarts Express for the sixth time, entering their second last year at the school that had nurtured, cherished, and created them.  
  
Ron sat quietly in their compartment, gazing out the window. When had Hermione become so - tall? She practically towered over Harry and him now. It was disconcerting. Then he grinned and turned towards Harry, remembering something Fred and George had done recently to Percy on a visit.  
  
School. With hardly realizing it, they had quickly slipped back into the routine that would be all they thought, did and breathed for ten months. Ron, as usual, soon found himself immersed in the volume of work that the teachers always, amazingly, managed to find more of. And even more amazingly, Hermione managed to complete, with time left for studying and extra-credit reports.  
  
"And honestly, I don't know where they managed to scrounge up this Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. If you talk in her class she looks positively __teary!"  
  
Harry and Ron sniggered to themselves. It was a well-known fact now, across the school, that Miss Perthins was nothing short of a push-over. A highly emotional and melodramatic teacher, she had very quickly bonded with Professor Trelawney, apparently enjoying the anxiety attacks that the Divination teacher's grim predictions gave to her.  
  
"Well, even if she is barmy, I still can't understand that hex to perform on Cornish Pixies! I mean really, just handing us the notes without even a proper demonstration." Ron shuffled through his notes again, looking frustrated.  
  
"That hex? Why it's perfectly simple! You just take your wand like this, and -"  
  
"Hermione, that's easy for you to say, but saying 'like this' does not help me at all."  
  
"Well fine then." Hermione got up and moved behind Ron. He felt her soft breath on his neck as she reached her arms over and gained control of his arms' movements. "You just circle like this, and then flick! But while you circle you need to say -"  
  
Ron did not hear a word she said. It was funny how just a summer could change so much - he had never really noticed before the way her hair felt like something silky, and hands were so soft, and.  
  
"So do you get it now? Do what I just did then, alright?  
  
Ron stammered, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what he had just "learned," and therefore had no way of showing it to her. "I, um, well, I -- - need to use the toilets. Thanks, but I'll do it later."  
  
Harry snickered.  
  
On his way to the washrooms, Ron tried to think about what had just happened to him. He had just thought about Hermione in a way that was most unlike how friends thought about each other. Sure, there had been that thing back in fourth year with Krum, but it had seemed to disappear - hadn't it? Last year she had been so involved with him he hadn't liked to intrude at all (not to mention that the love poems delivered in Krum's thick Bulgarian accents made him nauseous), and only after a painful break-up that had hurt Hermione very badly would it have been even acceptable for Ron to approach her. But by that time Ron had managed to convince himself of Hermione's unavailability, especially after Krum, the famous Seeker, and he had dismissed it as a small and fleeting crush.  
  
But now it seemed like it had returned._


	2. Awkward Agreements

Disclaimer: Whoopsies! Forgot this last chapter. Therefore: My name is not J.K. Rowling. J.K. Rowling wrote the Harry Potter series. Good enough for you?  
  
_Nobody knows it but you've got a secret smile  
And you use it only for me  
Nobody knows it but you've got a secret smile  
And you use it only for me  
So use it and prove it  
Remove this whirling sadness  
I'm losing, I'm bluesing  
But you can save me from madness_  
  
-Semisonic, "Secret Smile"  
  
  
  
  
  
Over the following week, Ron tried not to think about Hermione too much. He figured the last thing he needed this year, with his all-important O.W.L.s coming up, was another distraction. But it seemed like the more he tried not to think about her, the more his mind kept going back to just what it was he wasn't going to think about. Hermione Granger, who had somehow grown from the girl with unmanaged frizzy hair, big teeth, and an armload of books, the girl who he had been friends with since Hallowe'en five years ago. But it seemed like overnight -overnight? Maybe it had been gradual, maybe he just hadn't noticed that she was slowly turning into a tall, poised, intelligent and beautiful girl who no longer was just a friend.  
  
"Ron Weasley."  
  
Startled, Ron looked up to see Snape looking at him with poorly disguised pleasure. "Can you tell me what type of poison the Verberth plant excretes, and what the poison, once diluted, helps cure?"  
  
Ron glanced around the classroom, hoping frantically that maybe they had been writing notes on the board - but no such luck. He finally returned his gaze to the desk in front of him and muttered "I don't know, sir."  
  
"Really, Weasley? That's very odd, since if I'm not mistaken it's the thing we just reviewed a minute ago. Perhaps your thoughts would be better off not in a dreamland that, for you, could never exist, but in class? Fifteen points from Gryffindor." At that, Snape turned quickly, his cloak creating a malevolently sinister ripple.  
  
"I bet he planned that on purpose. 'Exit stage left, cloak flourish.'" Ron turned his head as discreetly as possible to see Harry grinning as usual at him. "Don't worry, he does that to all of us. And it wasn't a minute ago, it was nearly ten." As Snape began winding up his interrogation of another student, Harry whipped back around, fixing such a studious look on his face that Ron had to choke back laughter.  
  
Class ended after what seemed eons, and Harry, Ron and Hermione left the classroom as quickly as was humanly possible, considering the other throngs of students that had the same thought on their minds.  
  
"It's like a stampede," joked Ron once they finally made it out. "Someday someone's going to get trampled and then what will Snape do?"  
  
Ron had barely finished saying this when Harry jumped in. "Well, Hermione, we've got to go now. I lost something in my room and Ron's helping me look for it. See you later!"  
  
"What? I didn't know you lost something, your room's usually a lot neat_er_!" Ron was suddenly pulled halfway across the hall by a sudden jerk of Harry's arm. "But this isn't even the way to the dorm, Harry," he said as he watched the chestnut head slowly disappear into the crowd.  
  
"Yes, yes, I know. I actually didn't lose anything. I've got great news, Ron!" And so it appeared, for Harry's smile was huger than Fred and George's when they got a standing ovation from the teachers at graduation.  
  
"What is it? Draco's been eaten by the Whomping Willow? Fleur's coming back to the school? Or - wait, I've got it: there's a strange love charm that's been put on Hogwarts, and _McGonagall_'s fallen for _Flitwick_-"  
  
Harry shook his head. "Don't be silly, how on earth would they reach each other?"  
  
" - and how about you tell me what it really is quickly before my imagination runs out?"  
  
Harry took a deep breath, and said "Cho's agreed to go out with me to Hogsmeade one day! I mean I know it's not even really a date, but just being able to _be_ somewhere just with her will be just wonderful, and she hardly ever used to talk to me before, especially after the Triwizard Tournament, and I don't know, what should I wear, or should I still feel guilty about Cedric, though strangely enough Voldemort hasn't even done anything yet, but it's a start right? A little start but a start. Not really a big start, but"  
  
Ron laughed and grabbed Harry by the shoulders. "Harry, calm down! That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you, I'm sure Cho will have a great time with you and then fall for you just as much as you've fallen for her," here he expertly dodged a swipe made by Harry, "and have a brilliant time. When is it?"  
  
"Hallowe'en. And the reason I told you is, um, ah, er,"  
  
"No, I won't hang around you."  
  
Looking relieved at not having to say it for himself, Harry smiled in appreciation then paused as something else difficult came up. "And would you mind making sure that, uh, Hermione is occupied? I mean she's just as much my friend as anyone, but it's just different telling it to a girl."  
  
Ron stopped short. Him alone with Hermione? How on earth would he manage to act normally? Hermione was, quite obviously, far from stupid, and this extended from the studying sense to that of observation. He'd have to act as if, like it used to be, Hermione was just one of his buddies. He had no idea how to do that. But he'd have to, because refusing to do his best friend a favor would not only be something he would never do, but would be partly revealing in itself. He knew how important this was to his friend, since Cho had been stand-offish and often just rude to Harry since third year, when Ron had begun to notice the affection Harry was harboring for the attractive Asian Seeker.  
  
"Uh, Ron?"  
  
Ron started. Harry was looking at him with a confused expression on his face.  
  
"Oh right, sorry, just kind of dozed off. Sure, I'll take care of Hermione."  
  
"Are you all right, Ron? Because you did just that in Snape's class. Is something wrong?" Harry's face was full of concern and perplexion.  
  
"I'm fine, it's just I haven't been sleeping very well lately. And you know Snape's class, it's practically a cure for insomnia."  
  
"No, that would be Divination."  
  
Ron and Harry started walking, trying to get out of the way of a frantic Neville who was dashing from hall to hall yelling something about whether or not anyone had seen his wand. "True, very true. I wonder just what Professor Trelawney will have cooked up in relation to Miss Perthin's class schedule? I hope you're ready to die again today Harry, and perhaps by an exotic evil elf -"


	3. What Words Can Do

Chapter 3: What Words Can Do  
  
*And here is a very, very fun chapter in which I get fluffy! Fun! And Hermione gets mad too, probably the more exciting of the two. Disclaimer: I own nothing etc., etc., etc., if I did own anything, I would try to make sure that I didn't keep rabid fans of Harry Potter waiting THIS long for the 5th book*  
  
  
  
_And I am contemplating matters  
All this cling and clatter in my head  
What you said is ringing  
Ringing faster  
And it's all good if you would  
Stop the world from making sense  
  
-Lifehouse, "Cling and Clatter"  
  
  
  
"Ron, wake __up! This is absolutely __wicked!"  
  
Ron opened his sleepy eyes on the morning of October 31st to see a beautiful, beautiful sight. The floor of his and Harry's dorm was literally carpeted with candy - Chocolate Frogs, Bernie Botts', Raspberry Rockets, and what looked like the entire stock of Honeydukes. Harry was hovering over it all, looking like he'd just managed to transfer his dream into reality.  
  
"Who - Harry, what -?"  
  
"Dobby!" Harry said wetly, then swallowed, and continued. "He just showed up this morning really early, apparently before they had to start cooking, and said he had 'Hallowe'en presents for the great Harry Potter and his noble friend Weezy.' "  
  
Ron didn't reply. In fact, he couldn't have. His mouth was already filled with Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Filibusters.  
  
Harry joined him.  
  
"Wow, a perfect start to a perfect day," Harry said, his eyes wandering off to somewhere in the air. Ron groaned and helped himself to some Bernie Botts' Every-Flavor Beans, trying not to think about something similar to what he thought his friend was.  
  
***  
  
Hermione was already at the Gryffindor table when they arrived for breakfast. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and her brown eyes were shining. Her face seemed radiant - to Ron. "Where were you two? Usually you're here a lot earlier than usual."  
  
Ron and Harry sank into their chairs. "Oh, we were just enjoying the nice brisk chilly air of an October morning."  
  
***  
  
"Now, I want you all to look into the crystal ball. Slowly __relax, let your thoughts go, become __one with your feelings only."  
  
Harry and Ron looked at each other. Divination had always been a struggle - not to laugh, that is. Professor Trelawney's outlandish manner seemed to get funnier every week; as did her many death predictions for her student Harry Potter.  
  
Ron took a deep breath. "Harry - I am looking - into the ball - My - feelings are -washing over all - rational thought I had - which is why I am talking like - a moron -" He moved his hands slowly over the crystal ball, closing his eyes and humming into the air.  
  
Harry was holding his sides in suppressed laughter.  
  
Ron suddenly snapped his eyes open, looked deep into the crystal ball, and - he wrinkled his brow in confusion. He wasn't just seeing the usual cloud of mist and smoke, he could actually make out shapes. He wasn't sure whether or not he had finally tapped into the psychic wave or if Professor Trelawney's incense had finally rotted away half his brain.  
  
He saw what he thought was the Yule Ball. There were students milling around, a few actually slow-dancing, and he saw himself and Harry. But this Yule Ball was remarkably different in one respect from last year's: he and Harry were not with their old partners. Harry was dancing very cozily with a dark-haired girl, and Ron was waltzing with -  
  
Ron shook his head quickly. That was just about as low as it got. His lovesick mind had obviously pasted his desires onto a make-believe situation, and then written it off as a "divination." He looked over at Harry.  
  
"Ron? You __really need more sleep."  
  
***  
  
At lunch, Ron found himself steadily avoiding the gaze of Hermione. He didn't know what to think at all: she had done nothing out of the ordinary to make him fall this much for her, yet all he could ever think of was Hermione Granger. The way her hair swished when she turned her head to look at you, or the way her deep brown eyes seemed brimming with knowledge when she was explaining something to you in her practical, patient way. He had been friends with her for forever, and that was part of the trouble; he had too many memories of her, too many sweet things that he could look back on from today for him to stop this insane infatuation.  
  
In fourth year, it had been something that he had only realized with his jealousy. When she arrived that night at the Yule Ball, her hair up, looking so different from what she had always looked, he had woken up. He had realized that he had liked Hermione for a lot longer than he had thought. Had liked everything about her, from the fact that she got into trouble for them, and wasn't afraid to break the rules; that she went on the rampage for house elves rights, and helped Neville in Potions. She had become more than a friend, but it was hard for Ron to realize it when he finally moved from friendship to so much more.  
  
But Ron had never been high in self-confidence. He was poor, and he knew it. And so did everyone else. He considered it a miracle that he had ended with Harry Potter as his best friend at all. Every time Draco taunted him, he felt not outrage, but misery. And when he found out that Krum was 'going out' with the girl that he believed he loved, he thought it would be ridiculous to step in. For him, a nobody with no money either, to try and displace Viktor Krum, one of the best Seekers Quidditch had ever seen, the world famous teenager, the boy who held so much allure for every single girl except Hermione. Hermione only liked him after she knew him.  
  
The fifth year had been awful for him. Every time he turned around, there was another foreign-looking owl from Krum. Hermione was not flighty enough to tell them of these things. She simply kept them in her thoughts, but Ron imagined enough.  
  
Around Christmas, Hermione had not showed up for classes. Harry and Ron, immediately realizing the crisis, had ran up to the Gryffindor common room as soon as they could, and found her, broken down by the fireplace.  
  
Viktor Krum had done the unspeakable. For another Bulgarian girl, he had abandoned Hermione. And Hermione, who would never dream of doing that to anyone, and who had only chosen Krum in the first place because he seemed reliable, was left wounded and wondering what was wrong with her.  
  
He could have moved in then, he supposed. But he figured Hermione, with her sturdy ways and firm intellect, would be unapproachable for a few decades. It was hard for her, acknowledging that it wasn't her who was wrong, it was him. But eventually, after a lot of support from Harry and Ron, and a whole lot of Chocolate Frogs, she recovered. Ron had put fourth year to the back of his mind, and life went on.  
  
And then this had to come along.  
  
***  
  
Defense against the Dark Arts was particularly awful that day. Miss Perthins appeared to have discovered a magical creature that no one knew how to defend themselves against. Harry and Ron were not very fond of the Erkling, a gnome-ish looking creature who spent its time cackling.  
  
"Now, class, I'm going to write the instructions on the board for the Silencing Spell. Once the Erkling is silenced - well, just read the rest, students." Her hands shaking, she turned to the board and began writing, her cursive jerky and unformed. Ron and Harry sighed softly.  
  
A girl somewhere at the back put up her hand. After waiting ten minute, she finally spoke out.  
  
"Um, Miss Perthins?"  
  
"Y-yes?"  
  
"I was wondering, just what is that word after 'children' there, I can't quite read it -"  
  
Miss Perthins' periwinkle eyes filled with tears. "It's, oh, it's just so __hard having to teach," she sniffled, sitting down at her desk with a thud. "I try and try and try and it's never ever good __enoughh -" here she broke off into a wail. The class was stunned. What should they do? Hermione looked flabbergasted, and Ron and Harry felt much the same way. The breed of teachers at Hogwarts had never been emotional at all, unless one could count the emotion of Professor McGonagall's tongue-lashings.  
  
"I'm quitting, I just can't take it anymore -" her voice trailed off again, and she covered her swollen face with her hands, retreating out of the classroom with her robes trailing dejectedly on the floor. The class sat, utterly confused. There was silence.  
  
Dean stood up. "Well, I guess that's all for that. Class is excused early!"  
  
The swarm of students left the classroom. Hermione, Ron and Harry walked in silence. Then -much to everyone's surprise- Hermione started sniggering.  
  
"I'm sorry, I honestly feel bad for her, it's just, who would have thought that we'd lose a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher simply because someone couldn't read the word '__follow'?"  
  
***  
  
At dinner, the story had spread through the school. Questions of whether or not the class would be cancelled, or what kind of teacher would have to be found on such short notice circulated table to table.  
  
Dumbledore rose at the head table. "A word please, students?"  
  
The students sat attentively. They all knew what the announcement would concern.  
  
"Miss Perthins has found unavoidable difficulties with teaching the Defense against the Dark Arts class. She has resigned." Dumbledore paused, and then began again quickly before any clamor from the students could begin. "Do not, however, think that this will mean an absence from your highly important education in self-defense. A teacher for the rest of the year will be found, and soon."  
  
There were groans from all over the dining hall. "This should be interesting," murmured Harry to his two friends. "If that was the best they could find after a summer of searching, who on earth are they going to find after a day?"  
  
"Maybe the Erkling will agree," Ron shrugged.  
  
"There are a few more things, however, so please bear with me. It has come to my attention, over the past two years, that many attendants of the Yule Ball two years ago have been clamoring for another such dance."  
  
Hermione let out her breath in exasperation. "Honestly, Lavender and Parvati: those two just get worse every day! Especially since they turned sixteen, and all their little romantic stories about 'sweet sixteen' began -"  
  
Ron smiled at Hermione. For a moment their eyes met, and Ron was utterly breathless until -  
  
"Hey Ron, you done with those hash browns?" Seamus' arm suddenly entered the small tunnel of Ron's vision, grabbed the bowl and disappeared again. Ron sighed, and turned his attention back to Dumbledore.  
  
"Therefore, for the fourth years and up, there will be a dance on July 1st, to mark the end of the school year. Also, a reminder that tonight third years and up may visit Hogsmeade if they have a permission slip. And the first Quidditch game of the season is November 23rd. Thank you."  
  
The old wizard who still had eyes that sparkled like a child sat down again. Ron stared straight ahead, his eyes full of fear. Another dance? The Yule Ball had been horror enough. He doubted Padma Patil would brave another night with him, and there was no way he would even begin to imagine what might happen if he asked the object of his affections.  
  
He turned to look at Harry who, it was evident, was having no such depressing thoughts. Ron could hear him muttering to himself, "and then I'll buy her a corsage, and she'll be absolutely gorgeous. And then every single slow dance -"  
  
Ron turned away, disheartened. This year he wouldn't even have his usual fellow rejected friend to keep him company. He propped a hand under his chin and was just giving himself over to his glum predictions when he heard tittering just behind him.  
  
He spun around to see Lavender and Parvati standing there. Parvati looked at him with what was definitely distaste. "I was just saying to Lavender here that my sister just told me there was no way that she would __ever brave another night with you and the amazing molding maroon dress robes. I certainly wouldn't either, considering that there __really isn't much, at least the way Lavender and I see it, going for you in the positive aspect either."  
  
Ron was speechless. He knew he hadn't been the best date to Parvati's twin on that night, harboring feelings of rejection and jealousy, but he hadn't thought that there was this much loathing on not only her part, but Lavender and Parvati. He had just opened his mouth, when he heard a different voice breaking the sudden silence that had fallen over their part of the table. For a moment he almost thought it was his, until he realized that his voice had never really sounded that melodious - in anger.  
  
"JUST SHUT UP!"  
  
Ron turned, and in what seemed to be like slow motion, he saw Harry's jaw drop, Neville's face register awe, and Hermione standing up in her tall like a wrathful Fury, unleashing it all on the two, who stood there stunned.  
  
"I don't know WHO you think you are Parvati, but __I know that you are still the same simpering little idiot who arrived here five years ago and immediately made friends with the only other of __your kind here. If you want to insult someone just to boost your own inflated ego again, try to find someone who __hasn't only been nice to you ever since you met him. Or maybe you could just never talk to us again, because it would be a waste of your already pointless breath, since you can be __sure we aren't ever going to respond. And if you think that Ron is going to have any more trouble than you in finding a date to the prom, you're severely mistaken, because I will make sure that every single male in this school knows about every single secret that you have, including the fact that you both wear ready-made wigs."  
  
At this she gestured to Lavender and Parvati's elaborately curly and glamorous hair. Ron thought through the haze that was his mind that that really cleared up a lot of questions about time efficiency he had had concerning their appearances.  
  
Hermione was almost done, her eyes glittering dangerously and her hands clenched in fists at her sides.  
  
"Now go find a mirror somewhere, so you can see your vacantly shallow, cruel and clown-like faces for exactly what they are - nothing."  
  
Lavender and Parvati stood, shocked, protective hands drifting unconsciously to their hair. Hermione still stood, but the anger that had been in her seemed to subside, and she slumped a little, not looking quite as big as she had previously. Then her eyes drifted back to the two, and she added, almost in an afterthought:  
  
"There's a dictionary in the library. I know I used a few big words."  
  
There was a stunned silence over the Gryffindor table. Then, slowly but surely, starting from a few scattered claps, there was applause. Hermione turned to look at the table, her face asking why on earth they were doing that. Then it dawned on her, and her face turned a shade pink so becoming Ron grinned wider than ever. Dean and Seamus walked up to her, shaking her hand firmly, and patting her shoulder -("thank you, thank you, we couldn't have said it better ourselves. Just beautiful, exquisite.")- and everyone just seemed to be laughing through their hearty applause. Ginny seemed to be inches away from falling off her chair. For Ron, it all seemed to be summed up by Harry, who turned to him, and, between guffaws and through a huge grin, said:  
  
"Well that was refreshing."_


	4. Firelit Fancy

Chapter 4: Firelit Fancy  
  
*Yay! A fourth chapter! For all of you who have read the previous chapters (and why on earth wouldn't you?), you've probably realized Harry gone + Hermione and Ron alone together = fluffy situation. And you were right, o brilliant readers! More fluff. I'm sorry. I do try to get humor in there sometimes, honestly. It's just difficult when you love fluff as much as I do. So, here it is. Ron gets very, very, very tense, along with Harry. Aren't I evil.* 

*Anyways, thank you to all you wonderful people who review me. You really help, 'cause when you're writing a longer story if no one ever reviews it's really disheartening. SO thank you to: Adnap Nottap, myria, animeluvr, Tikal, TrinitySublime, chibi neko, Ase, Len, unravel-me, and SomeGrowYoung.*  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned them, Hermione would NEVER have gone with Krum to the Yule Ball. She would have gone with someone else, not naming names of course..  
  
_So I'll come by and see you again  
I'll be such a very good friend  
Have mercy on my soul  
I will never let you know  
Where my mind has been  
  
-Melissa Etheridge, "Angels Would Fall"  
  
Harry was standing in front of Ron with a very anxious expression on his face. "So, do you think I look okay?" He was compulsively straightening his sweater, and nervously looking in the mirror. "It's hard to know what to wear because, have you ever noticed how Cho always looks so amazing? It's odd, because I know she's not the kind of girl that would be vain and spend a lot of time on her appearance, but she always looks so beautifully-"  
  
Ron cut him off. "Harry, you look fine. No, I haven't noticed Cho because I know she's hands-off restricted. I don't think she's vain. Stop worrying! Now go out there and make her fall madly in love with you." Ron looked at Harry.  
  
"And don't turn beet-red like that when you do." Harry lunged at Ron, and Ron ran, yelling something about not messing up his clothes.  
  
Harry stopped and smiled at Ron. "I think I'm ready now. I'm going to take her to Honeyduke's and then anywhere else she wants to go -"  
  
"I wouldn't recommend the Screaming Shack."  
  
"And I'll be back here by ten, okay?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
Harry turned suddenly, looking distraught. "Ron, you know how much I appreciate you doing this for me, right?"  
  
Ron nodded. "Oh, yes. I realize that this has been your fantasy since third year and that it never included me and Hermione."  
  
"And Ron?"  
  
"Yes? If you keep this up Harry, you'll have no time for even a Butterbeer."  
  
"What are you going to do for the dance? I was going to ask Cho tonight, but do you know yet - do you want me not to ask her so that you're not -"  
  
"No. Absolutely not. I will be fine. Now go before you completely lose your momentum!"  
  
Harry nodded again, and set off for the door, biting his lip.  
  
Ron glanced at Harry. He seemed so honest, standing there. Smiling wistfully, he wished that someday he could have the experience that Harry was having. And that Harry still thought about his feelings during it was touching, and made Ron feel honored. What a friend. A famous friend who thought of everyone but himself. Then his mind flew back to the scene at dinner that night. Hermione probably thought nothing of it, but Ron not only had been utterly bewildered, but also blown away. The fact that she had stood up for him was amazing, it made him feel very warm somewhere within his chest. And that look in her eyes, the intensely gorgeous heat. He felt rather like floating. He looked again at Harry.  
  
"Hey, good luck, okay?"  
  
"Okay." _

                                                                  ***  
  


  
Ron dashed into the library. After he had finally set Harry off, he had realized that he had to get to Hermione before he did anything else. He ran through it, earning dirty looks from Madam Pince as he jumped from one mahogany bookcase to the next, looking round each one quickly before moving on.  
  
He moved into the study table area, and there she was, just where he had expected, gathering up her books and getting ready to leave. If he had come a minute later, he would have missed her and not been able to intercept her for his friend.  
  
"Hermione! I was just looking for you. I, uh -" He trailed off at the expression of embarassment on her face, as she quickly glanced down at her books when she saw who it was.  
  
"I, I'm sorry if I sort of over-reacted at dinner tonight. I don't know if maybe you wanted to handle it yourself, but I, uh, I just couldn't handle their condescending ways anymore," she murmured, her eyes glued to her Runes Translation book.  
  
"Oh, that? Honestly, don't wor-"  
  
She suddenly looked up, her eyes flashing. "I mean for them to attack you, who has _never done anything to them, sure, maybe me, I've rejected their offers to join them in 'boy-hunts' many times, but __you! And in such a __low, DESPICABLE manner!"  
  
Ron tried to speak, but there were no words, he opened and closed his mouth several times before wildly improvising. "Hermione, I am not upset with you at all! After all, isn't that what friends are for, sticking up for each other? We wouldn't let Draco call you a mudblood or anything. I'm really truly touched that you were actually that upset over it. So don't worry about it. And thank you. I don't know if I've said that yet, but thank you."  
  
Hermione blushed even deeper than before. "It wasn't a problem."  
  
Ron smiled, thinking how an already awkward situation had already turned much worse. "So, anyways, I was thinking, are you really up for Hogsmeade tonight? 'Cause I'm not particularly, and since Harry has to go to" mentally, he scrambled around frantically, what did Harry have to do? "research a report he's doing for school, I was hoping maybe you wouldn't mind sticking around so I'd have some defense against the two wigs? And some company, of course."  
  
He waited anxiously. His main fear here was that she would mistake his offer for something completely different, that he wanted time alone with her. Upon reflection of course, this wasn't completely wrong.  
  
Hermione smiled at him. "That would be lovely. I'm not really up to braving the comments from people either."  
  
_

                                                                     *** 

_And I'd give up forever to touch you  
Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be  
And I don't want to go home right now  
And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
And sooner or later it's over  
I just don't want to miss you tonight  
  
-Goo Goo Dolls, "Iris"  
  
  
  
As they walked back to the common room, Ron remembered yet another thing that had been niggling in his mind as very odd. The fact that he had actually seen something in Divination had been odd enough, but that there had been a dance announcement on the very same day? Professor Trelawney would be just as shocked as he was, and might actually improve his grade. And God knew he needed it.  
  
Also troubling was the fact that he had seen himself dancing with Hermione. Did that mean -? Could it possibly be that -? Harry with Cho was no surprise, but the fact that his wildest dreams might actually come true - maybe it all would work out after all.  
  
Together they walked through the Fat Lady ("flibbertigibbet") and sat shyly in the two armchairs by the fireplace.  
  
Ron did not want to have to do this with his crush. He searched madly for a topic, something related to school. "So, do you reckon the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher will be even worse than Miss Perthins?"  
  
Hermione laughed. Her even white teeth shone in the firelight, outlined by lush dusty rose lips. Ron looked into the fire, trying to burn away the un- friend-like thoughts he was having.  
  
"I don't know. I figure, Snape's going to be a prime candidate."  
  
Ron's mouth fell open in sheer horror. "You're right, I never thought of that! Oh god, what hell. What hell. Abuse twice as often as usual."  
  
Hermione smiled a perfect half-smile. "Don't worry. What more could he do to us?"  
  
"Ah, but you are the perfect student, Hermione. He can find less things about you to criticize than the rest of us, and than he'd like to. "  
  
Hermione looked down for a second, her lashes creating shadows on her creamy cheeks. Ron resisted the sudden urge to bang his head against the brick fireplace.  
  
"I'm honestly not the perfect student, I just wish people would stop calling me that, sometimes I feel inadequate just like everyone else. The fact that everyone is always expecting me to succeed, what would happen if I failed? I'd fail not only myself, but everyone else." Hermione paused, looking as if she had no idea why she'd said that. "I mean, I know it sounds arrogant, but -"  
  
Ron stopped her. "I don't think that's arrogant, Hermione. No one would think you failed them, at least, I wouldn't. You do something with yourself, and that's what 's admirable."  
  
The brick fireplace beckoned Ron again. Why, why, why? If he wanted to be any more obvious he'd have to take out space on the billboard at the next Quidditch Cup. He sincerely hoped that Harry was having more luck than he was. Or rather, keeping his cool.  
  
But he __was by a fireplace, after all.   
  
"Thank you, Ron. That means a lot." Her mouth with the small indent at the top curved upwards slightly, creating a winsome arc that made Ron break out in a sweat. Than she spoke out suddenly, a look of concentration coming over her.  
  
"Ron, you don't actually believe all that junk that Draco and Parvati say about you, do you?"  
  
Ron was speechless, again. It had been so unexpected, he hadn't thought of an answer beforehand. "Uh, um, of course not -"  
  
"Because if you do, I just wanted to tell you, that despite whatever you may think, you are a truly good person. They never attack your heart, because they can't. A heart of gold is something I don't read about often in my books. And that is really saying something."  
  
Ron had absolutely nothing to say. His mind was a blank.  
  
"Well, I have some last minute Transfiguration homework to do. I'll see you tomorrow, Ron," she said softly, slowly moving out of the soft orange glow of the firelight.  
  
He sat there, still mute, staring into the blazing streaks of the fire. It filled his eyes, the red, orange and yellow burning into his brain and the emptiness that was there. It seared on, its indignant flames licking at his consciousness and questioning everything his numb awareness refused to.  
  
The embers pulsed with heat, golden veined centers of energy. They were the heart and beginning and end of the whole thing, the creator and all that was left when everything else disappeared. They always remained. The flames merely rose from them and, powerful and formidable as they were, they would be nothing without the start.  
  
Minutes passed by, and the fire lived on, and Ron still sat mesmerized. There was only the fire and his feelings.  
  
A voice called gently from the top of the staircase.  
  
"And Ron? Tell Harry I want full details about the date with Cho tomorrow."_


	5. Good News and Bad News

Chapter Five: Good News and Bad News  
  
*Sorry about the wait, all. But the next chapter is finally up! In which you get, well just see the title. Harry gets "sick", and Ron does not get any more self controlled. Predictably.*  
  
Disclaimer: Once upon a time, in a (Scot)land far, far, away, there lived a great, great lady called J.K. Rowling. She cursed away all the evil writing block pixies and wrote a great, great book called Harry Potter. And all the little people loved these books so much that they wanted to write something about the characters too. But they didn't own them.  
  
  


                                                                  ***  
  


  
_I'll be way down a silver road, I'll go  
Where the moon has it lit up  
Turn off your headlights and go slowly  
I don't want it to let up  
Have you been thinking that you were all alone  
Well I still thought of you  
  
-Sarah Harmer and the Tragically Hip, "Silver Road"  
  
  
  
Ron was in the main hall, which had been transformed into a sublime ballroom, wreathed with swathes of fabric that were a different color in every light. He was dancing with Hermione, her face sweetly uplifted to his, as they glided over the floor. They had eyes only for each other. He brushed her cheek with his hand, and lowered his mouth to hers, when -  
  
Someone was shaking his arm, persistently, and calling his name. Ron turned around, to see the familiar hooked-nose and grim visage of Viktor Krum. And suddenly the ballroom wasn't a ballroom, it was a dungeon, and he was locked in there with Krum outside laughing, and laughing, and -  
  
"Ron? Ron, wake up!"  
  
Ron shook his head, and opened his bleary eyes to see the round concerned faces of Neville and Ginny. Neville's eyes were wide and his brown hair flopped over his forehead, as Ginny shook Ron's shoulder again. It was funny, because he didn't know where on earth he was.  
  
"Have you been here all night, Ron? It's almost breakfast time."  
  
Ron looked about him. He was in the couch by the fireplace. The fireplace - Hermione -  
  
He jumped up. "Oh God!"  
  
"What is it? Are you all right Ron?"  
  
"Uh, I just realized that I have to get down there quickly. I'll see you two later. Um, yeah." Ron explained all this in a most flustered manner, scrambling to get up the stairs and to his room.  
  
Harry wasn't there when he got there, something he found peculiar, because Harry hadn't woken him up. Ron hurriedly got dressed, grabbed his books, and sprinted downstairs.  
  
"All right, so when I see Hermione, I act completely normal, absolutely sane, nothing strange at all. I'm just her friend, which is the only reason why she would say all those things yesterday. I refuse to think about that dream I just had, and I should assume absolutely noth-__ow!"  
  
Ron touched his forehead gingerly, looking at the door to the main hall, which he had forgotten to open before walking through. He could feel a bump swelling up. Sighing, he opened the door.  
  
The usual noise greeted him. Making his way over to the Gryffindor table, he tried to see Harry and Hermione from where he was, and finally spotted them. He composed himself as he walked over, noticing Hermione's shiny hair from behind.  
  
"Morning, you two," he said as he slid into the spare seat, "would you believe I just woke up?"  
  
Hermione turned a fully disgruntled face towards him. "Yes, but you're still a lot more awake than someone we both know. Welcome to the post-date dreamy syndrome."  
  
Ron, confused, looked across at his friend, and realized just what Hermione was talking about. Harry seemed to be awake, but his face had a far away, dazed expression that appeared permanent. Ron waved a hand in front of his face. Harry did not see it at all.  
  
"Apparently Dean and Seamus had to get him ready for school themselves. He's been like this all morning! Honestly, I think his brain has disappeared." Hermione helped herself to another boiled egg. "And just __imagine what Snape's going to do to him if we can't snap him even partially out of this!"  
  
Ron winced.  
  
"I've tried pretty much everything short of dunking his head into the cold toilet bowl in Moaning Myrtle's stall."  
  
Ron grinned. "That would be great for her self-esteem, we've been avoiding her for years now. And who can ignore the melodious wails of our dear Moaning Myrtle?"  
  
Hermione giggled. "Yes, it would be funny, but something has to be done. I mean, I'm fine with people being lovesick in moderation, but this! He'll forget to breathe pretty soon, I'm sure."  
  
"Agreed." Ron leaned over, positioning himself by Harry's ear. " HARRY! Harry are you there?" There was no response. "Wake up!" Silence.  
  
Ron sighed. "Well, I hoped I wouldn't have to resort to such drastic measures, but it's time."  
  
Hemione nodded solemnly, a look of mischief in her eyes. It was peculiar, Ron thought, that for friends to talk this way was normal, but the instant that it was a possible love interest it became 'flirting.' Not, of course, that he didn't thoroughly enjoy it all. And there was something particularly nice about whenever Hermione complimented, or supported him. It meant nothing to her, but all the world to him.  
  
Ron gasped, then pointed. "Oh, __hi, Cho -"  
  
Harry jumped, turning his head so fast that it would have startled Ron if he hadn't expected it.  
  
"Cho's not here, Ron - where am I? How did I get here, I don't remember waking up -"  
  
Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Ron felt the usual emotions he felt in her presence now: numbness of the tongue, and a very weird glowing feeling. And then they both burst out laughing.  
  
Once they recovered, Ron turned to Harry. "So, what happened?"  
  
Harry's eyes seemed to drift dangerously close to his coma before -  
  
"Without picturing it! Please!" Ron said, starting to laugh again.  
  
"Please," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "We're both very anxious to know, but quite honestly, the fact that you go into a catatonic state every time you think about it is frustrating, to say the least.  
  
Harry opened his mouth slowly, and began. "Well, we went to Honeyduke's first, and we talked, and she said she was sorry that she had to hurt my feelings at the Yule Ball - she said she was sorry! Wow, hey? I mean, I was just sitting there going __Wow, this is so, Wow -"  
  
"He's like a broken record, Ron, honestly," Hermione said. "I'd hit him on the head, but I'm afraid it might just make it worse. Harry, keep going!"  
  
"And so then we were just walking along the road, and then I don't know why, I think it just kind of slipped out, but I told her that I really, really liked her. And then she didn't say anything, and I got worried, but then she -" A look of rhapsody came over Harry's face. "She -"  
  
"Well he's never going to be able to say it, so I might as well. She kissed you, didn't she, Harry?" Ron patted his friend on the back. "That's great, Harry! I'm really happy for you."  
  
"So am I, you've been waiting for this for forever, I should have guessed sooner why you seemed to be knocked out. That's wonderful." Hermione reached across the table and shoved a piece of toast into Harry's mouth. "Happy as you are, you can't live on love. Eat."  
  
_

  
***  
  


  
Halfway through the day, Harry regained complete control of his faculties, and could finally participate in a normal conversation without constant prompting. Ron had noticed that Lavender and Parvati kept a great amount of distance between themselves and Hermione, something that seemed to amuse her very much. Draco, Crabbe and Goyle were, thankfully, not present that day, as they were in the Infirmary, a result from their tragic overindulgence in Butterbeers. It made for a strangely slightly civil Potions.  
  
The overwhelming question on everyone's mind was, however, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. No one knew whether it would be Snape, or someone even worse than Lockhart.  
  
Ron, Harry, and Hermione walked towards the classroom. It seemed as if not only their class, but the whole school was there to see just who was the new teacher. As they tried to push through the huge crowd, Ron heard a familiar voice, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, realized just who it was.  
  
"Now, all of you who don't have the actual class please exit. I have a very tight agenda, and extensive research to do on the black magic market. You are merely wasting my time. You, 10 points from Slytherin! Out, now!"  
  
"Do you have any idea who it is, Ron?" Dean was looking at him quizzically. "Because I don't know if it's just me, but that voice really does seem to ring a bell somewhere."  
  
Harry nodded. "Yes, it's really odd, who is that?"  
  
Hermione looked at Ron. "Oh Ron, maybe he won't be as bad this year. I mean, you never know, right?"  
  
Ron looked at Hermione. "You have _got to be kidding. He is as bad, without a doubt." Hermione looked concerned, and Ron found himself diverted from the present dilemma to once again reflect upon how her face seemed to take everything that was beautiful in the world and use it perfectly.  
  
At the desk there stood a tall figure with red curly hair, a superior expression, and an armful of binders overflowing with research.  
  
"Right then class, take your seats, and we'll begin. I am Professor Weasley, and also your new teacher."  
  
Harry managed to close his mouth. "Percy?" he whispered to Ron, a completely shocked look in his eyes. Ron nodded resignedly  
  
"Oh no, this class is going to be awful - I mean, do you remember what it was like when he was Head Boy? Now he'll be marking us - it's a nightmare." Harry was still shaking his head in amazement, along with the rest of the class.  
  
"Well it's all my fault really Harry, I asked how this year could possibly get worse and that just set it all off."  
  
"Potter and Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor, stop talking."  
  
Ron banged his head down on the desk. This was just great.  
  
He had a crush on one of his best friends. His other best friend was head over heels in love. He would never get up the nerve to ask out his crush, and would probably end up watching her dance with someone else at the Year End Ball. And his annoying older brother was his teacher.  
  
***  
  
After the class from his worst dreams, Ron stumbled out of the room with Harry and Hermione, all of his hopes thoroughly exterminated.  
  
"Please, kill me now, maybe a curse or something. I just can't take this. Not only is he supervising me now, when I fail his class Mum won't ever see that he marked too hard or something, it'll be because I didn't try. And then Percy will back her up. I'm dead. Officially."  
  
Harry patted his shoulder. "You'll survive. No need to worry. Blood is thicker than water."  
  
Hermione smiled at him. "Yeah, it's better than Lockhart right? Anyway, don't worry. It's just for this year. You've made it through -" Hermione lifted up one hand and began counting it off on her fingers. "An ogre, McGonagall's chess game, Hagrid's various cuddly creatures, Draco's brilliance, the Whomping Willow, Acromantulas, Lockhart, now there's a big one, five years with Snape as a teacher, and most of all, life with Fred and George. You're ready for anything, really."  
  
Harry nodded. "Exactly."  
  
"Point taken. I reserve my request for after the O.W.L.S."_


	6. Christmas Joy

Chapter 6 Christmas Joy  
  
*Chapter six. Merry Christmas! In this chapter, we have some deep discussion of the opposite sex by Harry and Ron, shopping, and the usual Christmas festivities. Well --- not quite.*  
  
Disclaimer: This can really wear on you, you know? This is a fan fiction. Fan: a person who admires someone else/something belonging to someone else. Fan fiction, ergo, is something written by someone about something that belongs to someone else.  
  
_She may be the face I can't forget  
A trace of pleasure or regret  
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay  
She may be the song that summer sings  
May be the chill that autumn brings  
May be a hundred different things within the measure of a day  
She may be the love that cannot hope to last  
May come to me from shadows of the past  
That I'll remember till the day I die  
  
-Elvis Costello, "She"  
  
  
  
  
  
Christmas-time had taken Hogwarts by storm. Hagrid could be seen on a regular basis hauling festive decorations in like boughs of holly, wreaths of ivy, evergreens enough for every room in the whole school, and poinsettia plants. It was hard not to get into the spirit of Christmas where everywhere you went the scent of pine was in the air, and wreaths enchanted to have the moving picture of Father Christmas in the middle hung on every doorway.  
  
Some mischievous student, or teacher, had hung mistletoe in places that no one realized until someone tapped them on the shoulder. This could lead to emotionally harrowing experiences, as most of the student body had soon realized. After Harry was forced to kiss Pansy Parkinson fleetingly on the cheek, half an hour of scrubbing his face was necessary before he could stop shuddering.  
  
Harry and Ron were in Honeydukes', trying to decide, outside of her presence, just what to get Hermione for her present. Hermione had stayed behind to study for midterms, an absence that Ron found unsettlingly poignant. He had been giving him unsuccessful talking-tos over a long period of time now, all of which resulted in the conclusion that he was lucky it was only a crush, and would eventually fade. The fact that he did not feel like it would ever end was conveniently pushed to the back of his mind.  
  
"So what do you think? I have no idea, she's already read the entire library at Hogwarts, what on earth is there left?"  
  
Ron sipped his Butterbeer. "No clue. It's funny, she always gets us the perfect gift."  
  
Harry shrugged. "With guys, it's not that hard. You love anything with the Chudley Cannons in it, and I can never have enough assorted Quidditch- related things. I don't know, I think maybe girls are harder to buy for."  
  
Ron nodded. "More complex. They change every day."  
  
"Exactly." Harry took a huge, steaming gulp. "Hey, Ron, whatever happened to those dress robes that Fred and George bought for you in 5th year?"_

Grimacing, Ron replied, "Fred and George happened. I had the misfortune to sit on one of their exploding wands during a dinner party my parents were having."

Harry winced.  
  
  
  
                                                                               ***  
  
  
  
"'Miss Fletcher's Spells for the Everyday Young Witch: Spells for Radiant Eyes, a Glowing Face, and Kiss-able Lips'?"  
  
"Don't be daft." Ron pulled another book from the shelf, the thought that Hermione didn't really need any spells for that running through his mind treacherously. "Er ... 'A History of Durmstrang'?"  
  
"Maybe for Draco." Harry put the various books he was looking at down, and turned to Ron. "Look, it's pointless buying books of all things for Hermione. She'll have read them already, without a doubt." Ron put his books down.  
  
"So where else is there?"  
  
Harry shrugged. "I don't know Ron, I think it's hopeless. We should just buy her a bag of candy or something."  
  
Ron sighed. He would love to be able to buy Hermione a nice gift. But he had a limited amount of Christmas money, and his family had never had a surplus to dole out freely.  
  
"All right," Ron said, "Let's go to Honeydukes' again."  
  
  
  
***  
  
The morning air was crisp, and burned as you breathed it in. Ron opened his eyes to see the calendar directly in front of him. "December 25th" He debated for a moment whether or not to get up, as the cold floor looked less than inviting. Finally, he shrugged. After all, it was Christmas morning. And some traditions never died.  
  
Downstairs, Hagrid had set up a huge Christmas tree, replete with crystal balls and tinsel. Gryffindors had been eyeing the slowly growing pile of presents for days now. Ron resisted the urge to go down, and instead walked over to Harry's bed.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
Harry grunted, then squinted at Ron. "What time is it?"  
  
"Nine o'clock. Come on, you're not going to sleep in later than this on Christmas morning, are you?"  
  
"That was the idea," Harry grumbled as he sat up and got out of bed. "You're what, sixteen, and you _still get up early?"  
  
Ron chose to ignore that comment, instead walking down the stairs, followed by Harry.  
  
"And you know what, I'll bet we're the only people weird enough to have woken up -" _

"Not quite, Harry," said a voice from within the red couch. Hermione's face turned around to smile at them. "Good morning, you two. Merry Christmas."  
  
Ron smiled stupidly, not sure what to say. "Yeah, you too." Embarrassed by his embarrassment, he turned to the tree and grabbed the first present addressed to him he could see.  
  
Looking at it more closely, he sighed. "Another jumper. How many does this make now?"  
  
"Nine," Harry said stickily through a Chocolate Frog.  
  
The next present was from Harry and Hermione. "Am I supposed to be thinking that you two made me another jumper?" he said, feeling the present. "It feels like clothes."  
  
Harry and Hermione simply smirked at each other.  
  
Ron ripped open the present, and was utterly shocked. Stunned speechless.  
  
Dress robes of midnight blue had fallen out of the wrapping. They were brand new.  
  
Ron thought he might do something that was most unmanly, involving eyes and salt water. Not once had he thought that his friends, let alone anybody, would do something like this for him, something that obviously took so much of their own expense.  
  
"Harry - Hermione - how much did these cost?"  
  
Hermione smiled. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that it's rude to ask that?"  
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah. And Ron, don't say a word. Not one word about how you don't need them, about how you could never repay us. One word and we'll take them back."  
  
Hermione nodded, a glint of sweetness and mischief in her eyes. How on earth could someone look that good in the morning, Ron wondered? Her hair was mussed, but in such a way that it only added to her attractiveness. She was also one of the only girls in the school whose face was still as clean and clear as it had been first year.  
  
Ron's mouth was still open. "Uh .... Thank you?"  
  
Hermione and Harry grinned. "All right, we'll accept that. Merry Christmas, Ron."  
  
"Yes. Merry Christmas."  
  
  
  
***  
  
Christmas that year was a joyous thing. The dinner was jubilant, full of cheers and spirit. Even Snape didn't look as irritated as he usually did. There were crackers galore, and Ron found in his a moving figure of a phoenix, and a strange hat. This was explained by Hermione and Harry, after uncontrollable laughter on their part, as an old-fashioned hat worn by women called a "bonnet." They strongly discouraged him from putting it on.  
  
The anonymous placer of the mistletoe turned out to be, unsurprisingly, Peeves. This was made apparent when he entered the main hall, clutching a mistletoe in his gnarly transparent fist and grinning an evil smile. He seemed to rejoice in trapping unlucky couples, then waving a mistletoe above their heads and saying, "Pucker up!"  
  
Some of the unfortunate people included Snape and Professor McGonagall ("And Peeves escaped with his life?" Harry asked, genuinely shocked), and Crabbe and Lavender, and Parvati and Goyle (There was no real response to this. They were all too busy clutching their sides with laughter).  
  
Walking back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry, Ron and Hermione ran into Draco and his usual cohorts. They shared the same, unfortunately small, hallway with animosity that seemed to float in the air. Draco had grown into a pale, washed out blonde that held the same arrogance that had been present from first year. He too had developed the permanent sneer that seemed fixed to both his parents' faces.  
  
Suddenly a familiar snicker could be heard, and all 6 of them froze. Peeves was floating above Hermione and Draco, holding the dreaded piece of mistletoe. Hermione and Draco looked at each other.  
  
Draco broke the silence. "Really, Peeves," he sneered weakly, glancing at Crabbe and Goyle apprehensively, but so quickly that Ron thought he was the only one to notice it, "You didn't think I'd actually kiss a Mudblood like her, did you?"  
  
Harry and Ron started for Draco furiously, Ron with a red veil that seemed to cover his eyesight. How dare Draco insult her simply because she did better than him? With murder on his mind, he had almost reached him - but once again, Hermione was too quick for them. There was a cracking sound, and Draco was suddenly on the ground holding his nose, which seemed to be bleeding rather severely. Hermione was gazing at her fist rather in a confused manner.  
  
Harry was the first to speak. "Wow, Hermione, where'd you get a right hook like that one?"  
  
She grinned weakly. Draco, however, chose this moment to break free from his daze and start yelling.  
  
"You can't just do that! I'll tell! I'll -"  
  
Percy suddenly arrived, followed by a triumphant Peeves. "Trouble in the halls, Professor. _Such a violent generation we're raising."  
  
Percy studied the situation. Draco on the floor, bleeding. Hermione standing over him, looking surprised. Harry and Ron, looking pleased and vindictive.  
  
"That really does it, you three. How many times have I told you about your constant magnetism to trouble?"  
  
Hermione hung her head. "I suppose I do deserve it, Professor -"  
  
"Thirty points from Slytherin, and detention for Draco. Report to my office tomorrow after supper." And with this, Percy swept away, back to his office, leaving everyone dumbfounded.  
  
Draco hobbled away, supported by Crabbe and Goyle, and his voice could be heard, rather nasal and squeaky through his nose, about the prejudice of the school, and discrimination that was really quite shocking.  
  
The three Gryffindors were astonished. "For a minute there I really thought we'd had it," Harry said, shaking his head in amazement.  
  
Hermione beamed. "Well, what do you know, Ron. Your brother finally pulled through. I told you he wasn't all bad."  
  
"It came as a complete shock to me, though, let me tell you, and I've lived with him for sixteen years. I never thought he had it in him. He disobeyed the rule book." They started walking toward their original destination once again.  
  
Ron was impressed. Hermione was definitely no damsel in distress, that was for sure. He really wished he could have gotten to Draco though, his outrage at Draco's insulting Hermione seemed to have reached new heights, as had his hidden need to protect her.  
  
Ron smiled.  
  
"I'd say that was the perfect Christmas, wouldn't you?"_


	7. Library Work

Chapter 7: Library Work  
  
*Hallo, all. Yes, it's been a while. I had this earlier resolution to not write the next chapter until I got 25 reviews, but what the heck. This is another fluffy chapter, since the last two haven't been up to my usual standard. In which there is an assignment, some library work, and Shakespeare. All who know me, be quiet. I could never have resisted for long.*  
  
*Disclaimer: You know, setting the mood for a story is hard enough without having to ruin it from the start with legal babble. Believe me, if I owned Harry Potter, I would make sure that I made a whole lot more money than I do right now.*  
  
_Take your coat and your shoes off  
Come and sit beside me  
We could talk for hours  
Or we could just do nothing  
Give me all your disappointments  
I'll give you my secrets  
We could lay our heads down  
Or be forever sleepless  
  
Four billion people surround us  
So many souls lose their way  
All that we have is each other  
And that's all I've ever wanted  
  
-Jann Arden, "Sleepless"  
  
  
  
New Year's passed, and so did the Christmas holidays. Soon school was reinstated, and Ron was thrust back into school and all its quirks. Snape resumed the year with no residue of Christmas spirit, and Trelawney was her usual vague self.  
  
Harry had resumed his dating with Cho, and was now going out with her regularly every second week. The initial effect that Ron and Hermione had noticed had not completely disappeared, but instead gotten less and less severe upon each occurrence. This was a blessing not only for Harry, but for Hermione and Ron, who no longer had to remind him to continue breathing.  
  
***  
  
  
  
They entered Charms lesson with no idea as to the class outline. They had, of course, seen other classes leaving with a rather stunned look on their face, but had thought nothing of it. As they sat down in their usual spots, Professor Flitwick floated to his usual perch of huge manuscripts with an expression of delight on his face.  
  
"Well class, I'm very excited to tell you that this year Professor Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic have granted me the permission to use a project idea that I have been wanting to do for a while. This year, for your assignment, I will be allowing you to work in partners for this highly difficult scheme."  
  
"Great," muttered Harry.  
  
"However, I will choose the pairings. You will have from now to May to complete this. It will count as a final exam, therefore excluding the need to have a formal one. You have to invent your own spell."  
  
The class was suddenly filled with loud whispers. Dean blurted out suddenly, "But is that even possible? We've never heard of that being done before!"  
  
Professor Flitwick smiled to himself. "No, it's not very common, but it is possible. What you need to do is design a spell that has not been thought of yet, and then try to teach it to your wand." He waved his small hand before the class could question. "Yes, I know how preposterous that sounds, but if the word you choose for the initiation is close enough in Latin for the wand to be able to make the connection, it will work.  
  
Hermione nodded slowly. "I think I understand that concept," she whispered to Ron and Harry, an attractively studious look on her face. "Since wands form connections to other spells every day, why not to one we formulate? This should be interesting - I think I've read a few books on the subject -"  
  
Harry sighed. "So, what you're saying Hermione, is that the only person who's going to pass this thing is you and your partner?"  
  
"Class! I'm not finished." Professor Flitwick resumed. "Naturally, there are some conditions to your spell. No injurious spells of any manner whatsoever. You must be able to perform your spell five times consecutively, producing the same result each time. And lastly, you must give me your research, including your resources, with the presentation."  
  
The class was still shocked. This was beyond anything that even Professor McGonagall had assigned them.  
  
"Right then, your pairs."  
  
Ron sighed. "This is the only way this class could possibly get any worse. Who do you think I'll end up with, Lavender or Parvati?"  
  
"Lavender and Neville, Harry and Parvati,"  
  
Harry's eyes were wide. "Good grief," he murmured, "I'm stuck with the airhead from hell. The one I ignored at the Yule Ball. She'll crucify me."  
  
Ron patted Harry on the back sympathetically. "You'll get through it. It's only for four months. And you won't be joined at the hip or anything."  
  
Switching his attention back to Professor Flitwick, Ron managed to catch, "Terry and Dean, Seamus and Hannah,"  
  
"But remember how mad she was at you, and you didn't even personally snub either of them? Oh no -"  
  
",Ron and Hermione,"  
  
Harry turned to glare enviously at Ron. "And you've got the best possible partner. You'll pass this year for sure now, getting 150% on the final. Just promise, sometimes, to visit me in my medieval torture cell of a group?"  
  
Ron hurriedly replied to the affirmative, and then turned to Hermione, who had just said his name. He wasn't really sure what to do about the unfortunately fortunate choosing of his group, as he now had a very valid excuse to be alone with her. She had seemed rather distracted since November, not really having time to do anything, as things seemed to have been coming up all the time, such as extra-credit reports. He had never really been able to spend time with her like he had the night of Hallowe'en, something he found very unsettling.  
  
"Right Ron, I think I know what we're going to do. What we'll do is meet in the library every Thursday night okay? And we'll do our research gradually. What sort of things do you think you'll consider for the result of the charm?" Hermione said all this very rapidly, shuffling through her notes and writing things down as she went. "I think this is a really good idea for an assignment, it actually teaches us to think for ourselves. Not to mention it'll be simpler and less time-consuming than studying for final exams -" here she cut short, glancing at her watch.  
  
"Class has ended, and I haven't even put my notes in my room yet! I really have to go Ron, see you later, right?"  
  
Ron nodded, watching her leave, her tall figure complimented to perfection. There was really something about the way her hair fell in soft curls, and how she walked purposefully. And strangely enough, he was even starting to find her very intelligence charming.  
  
He was awakened out of his reverie by the crash of Harry's head against the desk. When he raised his head again, Ron observed both Parvati and Harry looking at each other with obvious distaste. Lavender was attempting to sit as far away from Neville as possible, replying in only two word answers.  
  
  
  
                                                                                 ***  
  
"Alright, Ron. Let's get down to business. What sort of idea do you have for the result of our spell?"  
  
Ron was quite honestly, stunned. He had never been part of the whirlwind that was Hermione studying. He had watched as she spun from one part of the library to the other, grabbing books, and scribbling notes as she talked to herself and Ron. Not that Ron understood any of her technical speech.  
  
Another problem was the flushed appearance her complexion had taken on. This, curiously, was the only thing that Ron seemed to be studying in their "study session".  
  
"Ron?"  
  
Ron shook his head quickly. "Oh, right. Well, um, what about, uh," All that Ron could hear inside his head was "a heart, a heart, a heart, a heart" beating in time to his. "No idea, how about you?"  
  
Hermione sighed. "Well, I was thinking something along the lines of a poem recited or something, maybe just a symbol?"  
  
Ron nodded. "Like a heart maybe?" Why did he say that? Why? He had just been thinking how he wasn't going to say that, and then out it popped.  
  
Hermione jumped. "That's perfect! A heart with a poem recited simultaneously!"  
  
Ron's mouth fell open. Great. Just what he needed. To be working on a romantic charm with his crush.  
  
"So, uh," he ventured timidly, "what kind of poetry? Like are we going to be writing it ourselves, or just quoting something?"  
  
"I don't know," mused Hermione. "My Muggle heritage points toward Shakespeare," she said with a slight smile, "but I'm not sure if he's as appreciated in the wizarding world as he most certainly is elsewhere."  
  
"Shakespeare?" Ron asked quizzically. "Isn't he the Muggle who somehow recorded the life of the great Prospero, and of that trick on the Muggles? What was it.oh..A Solstice's Dream, or something -"  
  
"A Midsummer's Night Dream," Hermione said, giggling to herself. "Yes, no one knows just how he knew about Prospero, but he is our main literary source about him and his daughter."  
  
"Right, so what does this have to do with poetry?"  
  
Hermione let out a breath. "Honestly, it's __weird talking to wizards sometimes. Anyone in the Muggle world would know his sonnets. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day -?" Hermione asked rather expectantly.  
  
"Huh?" Ron was confused. Him, a summer's day? That was very peculiar. Now, Hermione, maybe, but he resembled only a forest on fire.  
  
Hermione threw up her hands. "Oh, never mind. I'll send a few to you some time, you can decide whether you'd rather use one of ours."  
  
"Right," Ron nodded, trying to seem more intelligent, as somehow Hermione seemed very disappointed at his not knowing. He made a mental note to check out the -Shagespeare?- Muggle soon.  
  
Ron asked something suddenly he hadn't been expecting to say.  
  
"Hermione, which do you prefer? The wizarding or the Muggle world?"  
  
The glow in Hermione's eyes suddenly went out. She started gathering up her books.  
  
"I don't know," she said softly. "I know for Harry, __anything would have been better than living with the Dursleys, but life was good. It was certainly a lot more simple. I wouldn't want to have been anything less than I could have been."  
  
She sighed. "But it's hard, Ron. Sometimes even my parents seem a little scared of me, and that's the last thing I ever wanted. Half of my family is extremely religious. They don't even speak to me anymore, they think I'm the devil." Half-smiling, she shrugged. "But I'm really glad you and Harry are my friends. I didn't use to have a lot, they all thought I was a bit of a know-it-all. Much like you did before the troll at Hallowe'en."  
  
Ron blushed. "I really am sorry about that, I-"  
  
Hermione laughed. "Don't you dare apologize about that! It's been five years, if I was still mad, it would have made itself evident before this, wouldn't it have? Anyway, in case I haven't told you before, thanks for being a friend."  
  
Ron stuttered.  
  
"You're really sweet." Hermione touched his shoulder, smiling, then suddenly pulled away, looking at her watch.  
  
"Good grief, what time is it?" she asked anxiously. "I haven't even started my studying for Potions! I really have to go, Ron," she said, calling over her shoulder, "Later, right?"  
  
"Uh, right!" Ron sank into the library chair, only to be interrupted by Madame Pince.  
  
"Library's closing, Ron, sorry. Have a good night, now, dear."  
  
Ron left the library. Why did time with Hermione always leave him so confused?  
  
                                                                                          ***  
  
Next Wednesday, Ron actually ventured down to the library. This was an odd occurrence for him, because he rarely had any incentive to go if there was no homework -or Hermione- dragging him.  
  
Softly, and rather timidly, Ron walked towards Madame Pince. "Er, I was wondering where Muggle books would be, if there are any.."  
  
Madame Pince beamed at him. "Oh, that's marvelous, Ron! You see so few people from wizarding families actually going there, I was a Muggle, and our literature really isn't appreciated here."  
  
She rambled on, leading him to a section in the corner of the library that he had never even been aware of before. It was dank, dusty, and didn't seem to have a great selection.  
  
Madame Pince turned to him once again. "What exactly were you looking for, dear?"  
  
Ron stammered. "Er, someone called, uh, Shakespeare?"  
  
Ron thought Madame Pince was glowing. "Shakespeare! Oh, you wonderful boy! I'm so glad someone is reading him! Now, I think we have the sonnets, Hamlet, Othello, King Lear -"  
  
"Er, the sonnets will be fine, Madame Pince."  
  
Smiling happily, Madame Pince handed a small book to him. "Enjoy!"  
  
  
_

                                                                                                     ***  
  


  
Later in his room, Ron looked at the small book. He didn't see what all the fuss was about, really. The cover was unexciting, "Shakespeare's Sonnets - Complete 154," with a rather bland looking man on the cover.  
  
154? He had no idea where to start! But he dove in anyway. Hermione liked them, he was sure he wouldn't hate them.  
  
  


                                                                                               ***  
  


  
The next day, Ron met Hermione as usual in the library. Her hair was disheveled, and she seemed very tired.  
  
She smiled wryly at him. "Doesn't it just figure that all the teachers manage to assign projects the same week? I'm going mad here - but I did manage to find a bit more research on the Charms topic. Did you decide on the poem yet?"  
  
Ron blushed. Sadly, he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. "Er, yes. I thought that maybe we could do sonnet number 116?"  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "That one? That's odd. That's my favorite. I mean, I don't read Shakespeare a lot, I have a lot more things to do, but that's always been the one I favoured."  
  
Ron nodded. "I liked the summer day one too, but this one seemed a little more lovely." Hermione smiled at him. Ron thought he would faint. "I'm surprised you actually took it out, I didn't expect you to!"  
  
Ron flushed. "I know, I'm not usually the academic type, it's usually one of my brothers or something. Must be weird for me to disprove all those stereotypes, hey?"  
  
Hermione looked embarrassed. "No, I didn't mean it that way. I'm sorry, Ron, I apologize."  
  
Ron sighed and sank into the nearest chair. "No, it's okay. I overreacted. I'm just tired of always having to live up to my brothers' reputations. It's hard when someone has already done it all ahead of you. it doesn't give you anything to try for, when you know that really, whatever you do, it's not going to be original. No one will notice it especially."  
  
Ron didn't really want to be telling the girl he thought he liked this, but his mouth was moving of its own accord. "Even Mum does it. I'm sure she doesn't mean to, but she'll compare me to Percy, or Bill, or Charlie, and I know that I'm not doing as well as she wants me to."  
  
Hermione's eyes were full of compassion. "But you've never disappointed me. Look, whatever you do, I'm sure that you'll amaze all of us. Not everyone is as kind as you are, and certainly no one is as humble. Don't worry about what you're going to do. It'll just come to you. And I'm sure your mother isn't disappointed in you either." She smiled. "I don't think mothers would be mothers if they couldn't compare."  
  
Ron grinned weakly. Then Hermione did something that he thought would make him spontaneously combust. She gave him a hug. Pulling away from the embrace that left him wishing his face wasn't the color of spaghetti sauce, she stayed in front of his face for a long time, hers unbearably close.  
  
But then she pulled away. Her face seemed slightly red from the heat. "_Right, then. I've been looking in the Encyclopedia of Magic and -"_


	8. Moments in Eternity

Chapter 8 Moments in Eternity  
  
Author's Note: Yes, it took a while. Please don't remind me, I apologise, etc. etc., etc., It's long though! And it's fluffy! And you'll be happy with me, (I hope). School got off to a rather difficult start and I've just been turning the chapter over in my mind again, and again, and again. So yes. Enjoy, and review! It really means a lot. *smiles* Now READ!  
  
Disclaimer: Alright, everyone. Common sense. 1) Would J.K. Rowling be publishing things on the Internet? 2) Would she have a DISCLAIMER?  
  
_I wonder why  
I feel so high though I am not above the sorrow  
Heavy-hearted 'till you call my name  
And it sounds like church bells or the whistle of a train  
On a summer evening I'll run to meet you barefoot  
Barely breathing_

_  
As I lay me down to sleep  
This I pray  
That you will hold me dear  
Though I'm far away  
I'll whisper your name  
Into the sky  
And I will wake up happy  
  
-Sophie B. Hawkins, "As I Lay Me Down"  
  
  
  
__"Love vanquishes time. To lovers, a moment can be eternity, and eternity can be the tick of a clock."  
  
  
  
"That's it!"  
  
Hermione threw her wand down upon the library table with a distinctly satisfied look on her face, glowing with her previous efforts.  
  
Ron grinned. "We've actually done it this time? Not just half done, and still pages and pages of notes by incomprehensible scholars to review?"  
  
Hermione made a face at him. "Very funny, Ron." She paused, as if in consideration. "One more go - just for fun?"  
  
Laughing outright, Ron nodded. Picking up his wand, he outlined a heart in the air and recited the words, "Amo aureo!" A glittering red heart appeared in the air and slowly, an invisible cursive hand wrote the sonnet in gilt line by line.  
  
"It's really not bad, is it?" Ron said, turning to look at Hermione. The smile faded from his face in confusion as he saw she was staring at him with bewildered eyes that seemed to ask an unknown question.  
  
Ron gulped, and attempted to smother the emotions that rose up in him at the all-too-familiar sight of her softly luminous chestnut eyes, and her face that was somehow dewy. Was there something wrong, had she figured out his, -problem-, that she was looking at him with such perplexity?  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
Hermione shook her head quickly, and looked at him with a distracted look on her face. "No, it's very good. I can't imagine our getting a bad mark, though I must say I'm not quite sure about the mechanics of the hand yet, who would have known it was so hard -"  
  
"Hermione."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"We.  Are.  Going.  To.  Hogsmeade."  
  
"Are you sure, because I know that sometimes these little problems creep up on you -"  
  
"The spell is perfect! There is nothing wrong with it, or your research, or my research, or you," __how did that slip out, __how? Cover it up, cover it up quickly, "except for the fact that you just won't relax. So. We are going out for a nice ButterBeer so that we can savor the fact that the most difficult project of the year is probably over."  
  
"Well, I suppose, though it's only February. Sometimes Snape has something up his sleeve, actually I think he does this year -"  
  
"Going, Hermione!"  
  
"I'll go get my coat."  
  
                                                                           _

                                                                        ~-***-~  
  


  
Hogsmeade, a warm glass of Butterbeer and Hermione seemed to Ron to be something only angels could wish for.  
  
An unwieldy silence, however reigned over their small table. Hermione seemed to be doing anything but looking straight at him. Which was, actually, what Ron was doing as well.  
  
"It's funny that we're done our project in February. We got the actual assignment in what, January?" Ron fiddled with the handle on his glass.  
  
Hermione remained silent.  
  
"And then if you look at poor Harry - he hasn't even started, I don't think, he doesn't have nearly as good a partner as I have -"  
  
Hermione's head popped up. "It wasn't just me, Ron, you know very well you helped get it finished soon too."  
  
Ron flushed, not having expected the sudden compliment. "I know that, but if I had been doing this project on my own, I probably wouldn't have considered the requirement until April."  
  
The silence returned, Ron thoroughly confused. Had he done something wrong? Hermione hadn't been this quiet since she was Petrified.  
  
The jolly owner of Honeydukes' broke their ungainliness.  
  
"Can I get anything else for y'two?"  
  
The two shook their heads in dissent, murmuring small comments to the same extent.  
  
She smiled benevolently at the two of them. "Aren't the two of you just so cute, I hope you've gotten something nice for her for Valentine's Day, it's coming up, y'know."  
  
As if she had somehow pressed a button, Ron's face flamed a burning red and Hermione made a gallant attempt to reach his unequable cherry shade.  
  
"Oh, no -"  
  
"We're not -"  
  
She let out a yelp of surprise, patting Hermione on the hand. "I'm ever so sorry, both of you, I should really stop assuming things. Why, my mother, just the other day, very old, and wrinkled she is, said to me, "You've just _got to stop these guesses, they'll get you into so much -" Her story trailed off as she gathered their empty glasses and took them back to the counter.  
  
Ron thought he saw something that made absolutely no sense.  
  
Had she __winked at him?  
  
  
_

                                                                                  ~-***-~  
  


  
Unfortunately, she had merely guessed the truth, however unlikely it was. Their library visits had done nothing to cool Ron's ardent fire. Sometimes he caught himself looking at Hermione when he really had no reason to, staring at her profile as she concentrated in class, in an almost reverent wonder that melted into coincidence when she turned around. He could hardly believe that she was so beautiful. Not, of course, that he would ever think that in a state of sanity.  
  
It all just seemed like a huge lapse in logic, where nothing really ever mattered reason-wise, and a smile could send the earth turning, and a frown make the sky fall.  
  
Ron had had "crushes" over the years, on people whose names he hardly liked to utter anymore, so embarrassed was he that he had once harbored feelings that were out of the ordinary for them.  
  
But Hermione seemed to be different.  
  
Every line of her face was memorized, so intently had he studied it, words that she had said and her motions seemed stuck in his brain immovably.  
  
Tonight, lying in his bed, he had to ask himself the all-consuming question.  
  
Was this just a crush?  
  
He knew that a lot of people used the word "love" in every situation, from Quidditch to the new wizard heart-throb. He wasn't sure how, but the word he had been trying to use for the last few months extended deeper than that, reaching within him and withdrawing every last ounce of tenderness he had ever felt.  
  
It was more than just an infatuation, more than just simple lust.  
  
Unless feeling as if every moment with her was a surprise that somehow you had felt before was normal. Unless knowing every movement she was about to make before she made it was only friendship.  
  
Oh, why couldn't he just say it.  
  
He, Ron Weasley, loved Hermione Granger, the top witch in his class, the one he had known for six years and shared every moment of them with, the person who knew him as well as anyone out there knew him.  
  
And there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
He felt as if she opened up the world for him all over again, as if in her eyes he could be everything he had always wanted to be. His love made him burn with a slow but steady fire, a fire that already consumed all of him. It wasn't hot in bursts and starts, but warmed him from within with something that made him regard her with an adoring amazement that something like her could exist.  
  
She didn't know it, but every second he had worked on that spell, he had been dedicating it to her.  
  
  


                                                                  ~-***-~  
  


  
"Potions!" Harry said brightly, as they strolled quickly through the busy corridors. "Nothing better, that's what I always say."  
  
Ron laughed. Turning to his friend, he asked, concerned, "How's the Charms thing going? Bad as you thought?"  
  
Harry laughed bitterly, arching his eyebrows sarcastically. "That would involve beginning it with her, Ron. Once we do, though, it'll be World War III."  
  
"What?"  
  
Hermione swept in from another part of the hall. "Carnage. Destruction. Bloodshed."  
  
"There was a World War? When?"  
  
Harry threw his hands up in the air. "Honestly, Ron, I think that the best option for you next year would be Muggle Studies."  
  
Ron snorted. "How would _that be useful?" he said, a glint in his eye. "It's not like I know any Muggles or anything -"  
  
Hermione playfully hit him, as they sat down at the desk.  
  
Five minutes later, Potions class was in full swing.  
  
"Longbottom!"  
  
"Y-y-y-yes, sir?"  
  
"Tell me the reaction caused if you were to ingest a mixture of Dergewerty Juice and Bicklument Tonic?  
  
"Er, swelling?"  
  
"INCORRECT!"  
  
Harry leaned over discreetly to Ron. Talking out of the side of his mouth, he muttered, "He's in a nasty mood today. Reckon he drank some of the Diggiwerty and Bickly stuff?"  
  
"POTTER!"  
  
Harry shot back to his normal position with a speed that was almost faster than light.  
  
Snape trod back to the front of the room, oozing distaste. "Does anybody know? None of you precious geniuses can answer one of the most elementary questions in this study?"  
  
Hermione hesitantly raised her hand. As a rule, she had learned not to be too enthusiastic in Snape's class. Although now he merely insulted her for not knowing anything, and cheating on her tests.  
  
It was the wrong move. Snape spun on her with a gaze that seemed to try to incinerate her flesh.  
  
In an icily cool voice, he said, "Miss Granger?"  
  
Hermione read the look in his eyes and realized her mistake. "Sir, I -"  
  
Snape's tone changed as quickly as Harry's Firebolt. Spitting out his words, one by one, he yelled, "I did not ask you, Miss Granger, or any other pathetic excuses for a know-it-all that there might be in this classroom. But it's just you isn't it? You may have learned somewhere that you are superior to everyone else, but you should just go back to the Muggle world where you came from, and I -"  
  
Ron stood up. "SHUT UP!"  
  
Snape looked at him with a furious expression on his face. This wasn't the first time Ron had done this, but everyone had thought it would be the last. "MR. WEASLEY. I suggest you SIT DOWN before you are expelled!"  
  
Ron didn't even think about it.  
  
"__JUST GO TO HELL!"  
  
Snape's eyes widened. As did most of the students', including Harry and Hermione. Ron stared down a shocked Snape for a moment, and then wrathfully, and with short, powerful movements, gathered his books and left the classroom.  
  
  
_

                                                                               ~-***-~  
  


  
Ron sat in his dorm room, head buried in his hands. Class wasn't over for the others yet, and he was contemplating just what he had done.  
  
He could be expelled. But strangely, he didn't regret a word he had said. If he could have had Potions class again, he would have done it all exactly the same.  
  
A noise startled him. He turned around quickly, to see Harry standing in the door.  
  
He shook his head wonderingly. "You really did it this time, Ron."  
  
Ron opened his mouth, half finished excuses, apologies, complaints on the tip of his tongue.  
  
Harry spoke before any could spill.  
  
"It was _brilliant!"  
  
Harry strode over to Ron, patted him on the back. Suddenly he turned to him, a worried expression on his face. "But __stupid, don't get me wrong. You could be expelled, Ron. Just hope it's not Snape who makes the decision."  
  
Ron found words. "I don't care, he practically called her a Mudblood, Harry, I couldn't let that go -"  
  
Harry's brow furrowed. "She's been called that before, Ron, she doesn't really care anymore."  
  
Ron bent his head again.  
  
"What I don't understand, Ron, is why on earth you won't just admit -"  
  
Another noise at the door made both of them turn their heads.  
  
It was Hermione, standing awkwardly.  
  
Ron turned to look at Harry, to see he was already up. "Well, I'll just be going now, I have a lot of studying to do -"  
  
"But Harry, you never study this far ahead of a -"  
  
Harry turned to him with an odd expression on his face. "Today I am," he said cryptically, and left the room.  
  
Hermione stood there, very quietly.  
  
Ron jumped up. "Uh, hi."  
  
"Ron, why did you do that?" Hermione's face was utterly blank of any expression.  
  
Ron spread his arms helplessly. "Because I had to, I don't know, I realize it was stupid and everything -"  
  
Hermione walked further inside, placed her books on his bed, and walked close enough to Ron to make him stop breathing.  
  
Stuttering, Ron managed to get out, "Hermione, you -uh- shouldn't be here, it's against the rules, you know that, right?"  
  
"Right." Hermione looked at him. As in, right at him.  
  
Ron was more than slightly confused.  
  
"Ron. Why did you do that?" Hermione's face was inches away from him. Less than inches. Painfully close. For Ron, at least.  
  
"Because I - I -"  
  
Something very strange happened then. For the life of him, Ron just couldn't understand it. Not that that was the most pressing issue on his mind or anything, though.  
  
Much more pressing (literally, actually) was the fact that somehow, for some unknown reason, Hermione's lips were on his.  
  
And this was indescribable.  
  
A few seconds seemed like eternity to Ron. He hadn't realized he'd been waiting for this almost all his life.  
  
Hermione drew away. Another lifetime went by in her eyes. She was flushed, and her eyes had never seemed so beautiful, and that expression in them was given to him, and she was smiling with all her heart, and he had just kissed Hermione and -  
  
"Why, Ron?"  
  
Ron grinned. He had nothing in his mind except for her presence.  
  
"Because, Hermione."  
  
And he leaned in again._


	9. St Valentine's and His Repercussions

Chapter 9: St. Valentine and His Repercussions  
  
Author's Note: Yes! Another chapter! And I get fluffy. Again. But don't you dare think it's over! OH, no, the angst I have left! So, stay tuned! Nothing ends happily this quickly. Thank you to all my reviewers, I really appreciate it!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these lovely, lovely, people. Mmm...*cackles evilly* but if I did....*lapses into daydream of about three or four hours*  
  
  
  
_'Cause you're  
Everywhere to me  
And when I close my eyes  
It's you I see  
You're everything I know  
That makes me believe  
I'm not alone  
  
And when I touch your hand  
It's then I understand  
The beauty that's within  
It's now that we begin  
You always light my way  
I hope there never comes a day  
No matter where I go  
I always feel you so  
  
-Michelle Branch, "Everywhere"  
  
  
  
The next few hours had certainly been interesting.  
  
To start out with, Harry had re-entered the room with a rather huge smirk on his face. Sitting himself down rather ceremoniously on the nearest chair, he was perched there ridiculously for a moment, mocking his own pose. Then he burst out laughing and nearly fell off it.  
  
When he was finished, he looked at them both with one arched eyebrow.  
  
"About bloody time!"  
  
Ron and Hermione blushed furiously.  
  
Then he burst out laughing again, and through his gales of laughter, walked over to them and patted them both on the back.  
  
"You see," he continued almost conversationally, "I've known for quite a long time. Two years or so, in fact. The only question in my mind was when on earth you would finally get around to it."  
  
Ron's mouth formed a little "o".  
  
Harry looked as if he was about to start laughing again. "Anyway, I thought I should tell you, Ron."  
  
Hermione answered for him. "What?"  
  
"Snape hasn't done anything. Nothing at all. No marks off from Gryffindor, nothing."  
  
Ron was completely flabbergasted. "But why -"  
  
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. But it's true. So either he's waiting to ambush you right when it hurts, or he's not going to do anything."  
  
Rubbing his forehead, Ron replied drily, "Knowing Snape, the last one's every so much more likely."  
  
  
_

                                                                              ***  
  


  
Harry had left again. Ron and Hermione sat together in awkward silence.  
  
Hermione spoke abruptly. "I was really angry at you after the Krum incident. And Viktor was really sweet. So I forgot about you for a bit. And I was fine." She shifted in her chair, and swept her hair back from her face.  
  
"But then this year, it was like I couldn't just shove that anger between us again. You were - it was like - well for a while I tried to ignore it. It actually worked for quite a bit. Except for after Hallowe'en." Looking down, she continued as if she was steeling herself to finish it. "You know what happened Hallowe'en. And after that it all just - but I just need to know one thing. Do you - were you - is it just me?"  
  
Ron smiled softly. "Hermione, you are the smartest witch in this school." Somehow, he was filled with gentleness at the sight of the most confident person he knew looking up at him with a fearfully hopeful face that needed to be reassured. "Do you really think that I would do all that and not feel something for you?"  
  
Smiling, she replied, "No."  
  
Ron grinned. "Good, then. It'd be too weird if you got something wrong."  
  
  


                                                                                ***  
  


  
And so, over the next few weeks, Ron and Hermione began to understand just what it was like to be "boyfriend and girlfriend." Not, of course, that they publicly declared it in the manner of Pansy Parkinson and some various Slytherin boys necking beside the girls' washroom.  
  
It was really just their closest friends that knew. Besides Harry, they hadn't really meant for anyone else to find out, but with inexplicable quickness Ginny brought it up smoothly one day, slipping it sleekly into the normal flow of conversation ("I know you and Hermione are on a date in Hogsmeade tomorrow, but Mum says that you need to -"). Dean and Seamus beamed in an amused fashion every meal, to Ron's confusion, until their mock kissing faces brought the reality home. This elicited from Hermione a "Just childish, really," accompanied by an unwilling giggle. And soon an owl from Fred and George arrived with the inevitable teasing.  
  
So the events around Ron weren't really received with any great attention. So, the fact that Snape had to be rushed to the sick room after being attacked by a renegade baby Skrewt from fourth year caused only a few hours of mirth instead of the usual weeks. And when Parvati and Lavender discovered rats in their wigs one fine morning, Ron didn't really harbor too much satisfaction in his heart. The arrival of a transfer student from Durmstrang went by practically unnoticed.  
  
For Ron, it was so amazingly wonderful that Hermione saw him as more than a friend he could hardly even think of anything else in spare moments. Actually, not really anytime.  
  
Their meetings were sweet and reverently romantic, or there were those when they joked around almost like when they had been only friends, except for the kiss thrown in that neither of them could avoid, nor wanted to resist.  
  
Of course, they were still the same people they had been before. They still squabbled, they still fought about almost everything. Once, Hermione asked him why this time had been different.  
  
"You used to just argue with me, didn't you? Why didn't you do that this time when you liked me?"  
  
Ron thought for a minute. "Because it didn't work last time?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes pretentiously. "So, not because you learned anything, or became a better person, or something similar?"  
  
Considering, Ron smirked. "Depends on your point of view."  
  
"Right."  
  
"But, of course, now that all that nice stuff is over and done with, what say we go back to that mean fake animosity?" Ron laughed and let Hermione swat him.  
  
  


                                                                         ***  
  


  
Harry was chewing his scrambled eggs and toast thoughtfully. "I'm so glad you two finally got it over with. I mean, first I had to put up with that constant 'I _hate her/him' in fourth year, and then this year, you two were just way too nice to each other. Oh yes," he said, spearing a sausage, "it was simply unnatural. Walking around being __polite. Honestly, it was maybe the weirdest thing ever."  
  
Ron grimaced. "Thanks, Harry. Civility is a crime between us or something?"  
  
Nodding reflectively, Harry replied, "Actually, it might be."  
  
Hermione spoke out from over her Transfigurations book, "Well you won't have that problem much longer. Ron refuses to study for his OWLS-"  
  
"Because it's March."  
  
"-and won't see the fact that although, yes, it is March, this is extremely important. You can't be too prepared -"  
  
"You're trying your best, Hermione."  
  
"-and he simply must stop procrastinating. And no personal connection is going to stop me reminding him."  
  
Harry patted Hermione's arm. "He's well aware of that, Hermione."  
  
  
_

                                                                             ***  
  


  
Valentine's Day, as usual, was the havoc that a magical school seemed to create. Although without the serenades that second year had had, it certainly did very well. Ron doubted that Muggles could even come near to what his world managed to do. Most of the teachers remained unmoved by the romantic holiday (a mere arch of Professor McGonagall's eyebrows was enough to answer Parvati's question).  
  
Long standing couples celebrated mushily, and many others formed upon the unexpected arrival of a gift. Hermione watched the scenarios form in the halls with a bemused expression on her face.  
  
"To some of these people, you'd think the world depended on them getting something. I don't understand it at all."  
  
Ron patted her arm. "Well, you see, that's why I've chosen you. No need to remember anything."  
  
Lifting her chin high in an attempt to agree, Hermione asked diffidently, "Did you get me anything, Ron?"  
  
"Not, of course, that you care or anything."  
  
"Oh be quiet. Did you?"  
  
Smirking, Ron replied, "As a matter of fact, I did."  
  
"Where? Where? When do I get it?"  
  
Ron laughed outright. "Not excited, are we?"  
  
"Oh shut up. I've never gotten a Valentine's Day present. And if you hadn't have told me, I wouldn't be excited. Normally I don't care."  
  
"If you must know, it's not really anything big."  
  
Hermione's eyes shone with anticipation. "Give it to me after supper, okay?"  
  
Ron was thinking, I just hope she likes it.  
  
  


                                                                                ***  
  


  
He had obviously not had enough money to buy something fancy, like Harry's pendant for Cho. But he figured he had to do something - anything. It had taken him a few days.  
  
He sat Hermione down in the thankfully empty Gryffindor common room. She had been eager all the rest of the day after he told her.  
  
"Right, Hermione."  
  
And he said those three words, and waved his wand.  
  
It was their usual heart spell. As it appeared, and Hermione read the first familiar lines, her eyes lost their glow. "Ron -"  
  
"Just wait."  
  
_Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
Admit impediments. Love is not love  
Which alters when it alteration finds,  
Or bends with the remover to remove:  
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,  
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
It is the star to every wandering bark,  
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.  
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
Within his bending sickle's compass come;  
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.  
If this be error and upon me proved,  
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.  
  
"You just recycled the.." Hermione's mouth fell open. Because it wasn't over. And he hadn't just recycled the spell.  
  
__Hermione, I love you.  
  
Before he even knew it, she was in his arms, holding him tightly. "I love you too, Ron," she whispered in his ear, before she kissed him quite soundly.  
  
And Ron felt nothing but passionate exhilaration.  
  
Not bad for a Valentine's Day._


	10. Slipping

Chapter 10: Slipping

Author's Note: Okay, and now that the wonderful Christmas holidays are _here, I can put another chapter up! And then, the spectacular studying for mid terms must begin, so I'll try to keep writing more anyways. Anyways, in this chapter, I, er, well you'll see. Please don't hate me. Actually, I'd just be happy if you felt some emotion at all. Don't be apathetic, please._

I use some Russian in this chapter. If you're Russian, and speak the language, I want to apologize in advance for it. I honestly tried very, very hard to get it right. I had to translate English to Russian, then transliterate Russian, and I think there may have been a few mistakes in the last step. So, don't hate me or track me down and kill me or something for mutilating your language, because I didn't mean to. 

Dedication: I want to dedicate this to everyone who really made me feel fantastic the other day. *smiles hugely* Well, a while ago actually. This is to Nezumi-chan, BookSmartBrilliance, Gillian, "anonymous author," Julia Griever, and wmlaw. Muchos gracios J 

Disclaimer: Did you know that J. K. Rowling is married? I, on the other hand, am not. Feel free to draw assumptions.

_Losing my heart_

_Losing my pride_

_I'd burn my initials in the sun if it would shine_

_I need a fresh start_

_I was in heaven until this one fell apart_

_Out on the run_

_Out on this empty space since all of this begun_

_I try_

_I try…._

_And nothing seems to help_

_And nothing seems to work_

_And nothing isn't beautiful_

_I'm old enough to take all the blame for all of us_

_There's__ all the games and all the faces_

_I'm bleeding by myself and I'm okay…_

-Our Lady Peace, "Sell my Soul"

Ron threw his books down upon the table.

"Weekend."

Harry let out a half hearted cheer.

"The entire week of tests that our teachers conspired to put upon us is over."

Hermione sighed. "And I really think that I missed that question on the Potions test, I was there and it just sort of went blank. And then the _instant I handed it in, I remembered it."_

"One question out of what, 10 tests?"

Coughing, Hermione looked away.

"Right." Harry turned from the messy pile of papers and notes in front of him.

"There's a party on tonight in the Common Room."

Ron looked up, then went back to staring at the ceiling with a fatalistic expression on his face. "And I suppose there's not way any of us can avoid being there and drinking far too many Butterbeers?"

"Now that is entirely your decision, Ron. You can't just _say that you were forced or something –"_

Staring at Hermione with tragedy scrawled upon him, Harry spoke. "You've obviously never been to one of these parties, Hermione."

"What about McGonagall?"

"Dean said she's gone to visit her sister in Scotland."

"We _are in Scotland, Harry."_

"Well, somewhere else in Scotland."

                                                                                *

"You been to one of these before, Ron?"

Ron looked at his girlfriend. "What, haven't you?"

Hermione made an impertinent face. "Well, I'm not really the type to party it long and hard every night, wouldn't you say?"

Ron laughed, and put his arm around her waist. "Actually, yes. The instant I saw you, I thought, there goes one of those people who _never studies and shirks their duties."_

"I was afraid of that." Hermione looked suddenly very nervous.

"You will tell me if I do something spectacularly socially inappropriate, right?"

Ron looked into her worried face. "Hermione, just dazzle them with your beauty."

A shy smile crept across her face. "No, _seriously."_

"Seriously? They'll all be too drunk to notice."

Throwing up her hands in the air, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well that's even better. Why am I going again?"

"Because I want to show you off."

"Stop it, or I'll hit you."

"Alright."

                                                                                                *

When they ventured downstairs to the Common Room, they found much what they expected. Dean and Seamus were hovering over two barrels of Butterbeer with very proud, parental looks on their faces. The rest of Gryffindor were doing what one usually did at a party. There were, however some surprises; Cho Chang was there, at which point both Ron and Hermione turned amusedly to Harry, who, funnily enough, had found something very interesting at the other end of the room. Some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had arrived as well, along with a few Slytherins, and the new exchange student from Durmstrang.

The new exchange student was someone who most of the school had been talking about for weeks. It seemed like overnight she had turned into a darker version of Fleur Delacour. Justin Finch-Fletchley had told them all with a far away look that she had a handmirror that had belonged to her great-aunt, and as she had told them, "with smoldering eyes," _she was a beautiful creature who had started a rebellion in her native land of Russia, wreaking havoc until she was apprehended. After that first recounting by Justin, Irina had begun telling anyone who would listen, which was most of the male population of Hogwarts._

"And they cut off her head," she would say, flipping her purple-black tresses and glaring out at her audience with eyes of coal. She spoke with a slight Russian accent, one that was only made evident when she was very upset. It added to her allure. "Varvara the Perilous, who was from the famous family of the Kovalenko. The blood of the _Prekrasniitsii__ Smermepbnii runs through our veins, and mine also." Here she would brandish her wrist at her attentive audiences, gesturing her violet veins for all to see. "They were very, very beautiful, and men would die to look at them."_

The first time she heard this, Hermione snorted. "Of course. And naturally, you are also the child in whom the most of this blood has emerged again, am I right?"

Irina had turned her head to stare coldly at Hermione and her companions. Her shadowy eyes had flitted from Hermione to Ron very quickly. Then she had laughed, a very foreign sounding laugh, and said: "_Glupaya__ suka. I would be afraid if I were you."_

Harry, Ron and Hermione had stood there for a moment. Then all three of them had simultaneously burst out into uncontrollable, side-bursting laughter, amidst teary eyes and strained emissions of "Oh, I'm really scared" and "Afraid? _Afraid?" Irina had put her back to them disgustedly, and resumed her story to her admirers. The friends had left, still chuckling, to practice some Quidditch. _

Now, it looked like Irina did not have anyone to storytell with. She was standing all alone, drinking from a crudely fashioned mug what _didn't look like Butterbeer, actually rather like water. She smiled as they entered, a sinuous smile that reminded Ron of a snake. Her eyes had two white dots in the middle of the pitch black irises. Although Ron was loyal to Hermione, and believed her the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on, Irina had a captivating and sultry beauty. Clad in her usual black and tight-fitting clothes, Ron would have been attracted to her had it not been for Hermione, and that he knew that she had a personality as lovely as her outer form. Irina might be at the other spectrum of her in appearance, dark to light, but Hermione in herself was the real treasure._

Dean and Seamus, the organizers of the celebration, came up behind Harry and Ron. 

"Glad you could come."

"Have a little fun, hey?"

"There's Butterbeer in the barrels, but don't feel limited. Irina brought some vodka, and I think that someone got some Scotch in here."

Harry grinned. "Whiskey, eh? What, are you Scottish or something Seamus?"

Seamus made a mock face of outrage. "Me? Part of those measly and tight-fisted eejits? I think not! Don't ye know an Irishman when ye see one?"

"What, all those years I was wrong? Shocking, Seamus. Now, where's the entertainment in this thing –"

Harry went off with Dean and Seamus, leaving Ron and Hermione standing at the entrance. Hermione stood there normally, but only Ron could see that she was tense in her back and shoulders. 

"Oy, calm down! Let's go get a drink."

Predictably, Hermione _didn't get a drink. She had a glass of water that she went upstairs to her room to get. Ron, however, rather enjoyed the huge barrels of Butterbeer._

Perhaps a little too much, actually.

Two hours later, everyone was having a thoroughly good time. If a good time is to be measured in amounts of alcohol consumed, Hermione was one of the only ones not having one. And then someone had the very odd idea of playing Truth or Dare.

They sat down in a circle that really actually wasn't a circle because none of them were very good at doing that at the moment. 

Dean called out in a voice probably louder than what was necessary, "Alright! Who's first?"

Justin leaped up, swaying just a little. "_Me!"_

Hermione chortled, and Ron and Harry guffawed. Justin was beet red, and had an earnest, if somewhat intoxicated, ardor in his eyes. 

"Irina, I dare you….to _kiss me."_

The entire room fell over laughing. Irina laughed very slowly, then sauntered over to Justin much more steadily than someone should who had been drinking straight vodka all night, and laid her blood-red lips on his. Justin's blue eyes were astonished and very happy, until he cried out. Irina stepped away with a smirk, and the students saw a trail of bright red slither down from his mouth. He let out a gurgled cry and ran to the toilets. The room was silent.

"Right!" shouted Seamus, waving his mug. "Now that we all know not to make a move on Irina, who wants to go?"

Hannah Abbot spoke up very cheerily. "Irina should go. Irina?"

"I will go later."

Nobody opposed that, because Ernie MacMillan volunteered. 

"Blaise, what was –hic- Parvati really like –hic- when you and her –"

At this point Ernie passed out, which was just as well because nobody wanted to know what Parvati and Blaise, the hulking Slytherin Quidditch player, had done. Harry actually whispered rather loudly to Ron that it was like an act of God. Hannah and Susan dragged him out, during which he lurched unpleasantly. 

This was all impossibly amusing to Ron. In fact, just about everything was amusing to him right now. Not only that, but he was rather upset with Hermione. She was being so stuffy! She didn't find _anything funny at all. But that didn't matter, because she was so pretty, and everyone was so witty, and Irina was so intriguing. _

A great deal of the rest of the game went by unnoticed by Ron, although he laughed whole-heartedly at everything that happened. He was finally stirred out of his perhaps drunken half sleep when Irina spoke very loudly.

"Ron Weasley."

Hermione, beside him, twitched a little, and nudged Ron so that he was partially lucid. 

She was actually right in front of him, which was why she had spoken so loudly. Her face was mere inches from his. This partially called up a submerged memory, hadn't he done this before with someone else? But it sank again, and he forgot it.

"I dare you. To kiss me."

Ron wasn't actually sure what the hell he was doing. It was somewhat similar to what he had felt with Fleur, although obviously, as he realized later, not as potent because Irina's blood was much more diluted than the part Veela of fourth year. But her eyes were suddenly very, very enticing. 

As he leaned in, there was a voice in the back of his mind screaming _No No No No No No__ No! Don't do it you fool! But by the time that had actually reached his control, and he had realized just why he shouldn't kiss this Durmstrang student, because Hermione was his girlfriend and she was the love of his life and she loved him too, it was far too late. _

He didn't really enjoy it, because all that was running through his beer-laced brain was that Hermione, he had lost Hermione. But it took him a while to pull away. Irina's kiss was different from Hermione's. Hermione's were tender, they had real emotion, they spoke to and from the heart. 

But Irina's had only a grabbing and hungry need, with no feeling behind it, only a hurtful and fierce plundering. 

When he pulled away, too, too late, he knew that there would be no second chances. Hermione's eyes were more liquid than he had ever seen them before, and there was a glistening track down one of her cheeks.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he said, much slower than he meant to, as if he couldn't quite get the words out. There was a quick and abrupt sound that resounded in the quiet room, and he didn't realize at first that it had been her hand hitting his face with all the hurt rage within her frame.  

She spun, and as she did, Irina chuckled. "_Mestb__ sladka," she said, and, still laughing, went back to her seat. Hermione ran from her spot, and Ginny ran after her. _

Ron had just gotten up to run after her, he was sorry, so sorry, he didn't mean it, didn't mean to, he loved her, please forgive him, there was a knock on the door. Not, of course, that there was any need for the knock because immediately after it Snape came bursting in, and Ron knew that they were all in very, very deep trouble.

**Glossary:**

_Prekrasniitsii__ Smermepbnii – meant to be a sort of Russian Veela. It means __Beautiful and Deadly_

_Glupaya__ suka – __Silly *insert appropriate profanity here, I want to keep this G*_

_Mestb__ sladka – __Revenge is sweet (predictable I know, but whatever)_


	11. A Place of Dim Night

Chapter 11:  A Place of Dim Light

Author's Note: Alright, really short. But honestly, if I'd written anything else it just would have been forced. I'm feeling pretty cruel already. And I'm really, really, really sorry about the wait. But it's up! At least that's true. A lot of angst. And general. So, please read! And review! *mwah* Oh, and to my lovely lovely reviewers: 

Moonlit Aria: Awwww, thank you! I love your fic too! Next chapter I promise something will be done about Irina. *cackles*

Gillian: Thank you! Yes, stupid Irina *glare*

Julia Griever: I didn't _want_ to. It can't be _all_ fluff. Of course, in my perfect world, it would…..

                                                                                    ***

_Now that I know what I'm without_

_You can't just leave me_

_Breathe into me and make me real_

_Bring me to life_

_Wake me up_

_Wake me up inside_

_I can't wake up_

_Wake me up inside_

_Save me_

_Call my name and save me from the dark_

_Wake me up_

_Bid my blood to run_

_I can't wake up_

_Before I come undone_

_Save me _

_Save me from the nothing I've become_

- Evanescence, "Bring Me to Life"

Early morning. The boy opened his eyes to the sharp and unrelenting light.

_(I dare you…to kiss me.)_

There was a pounding in his head. 

"Ron?"

_(No no no no no no no!!)_

"Ron, are you alright?"

_(No!__ No! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it, O God O God)_

"What do you think, Harry?"

_(Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley! Control yourself.)_

There was silence. 

_(You don't understand, it's Hermione, Hermione, let me _go_, dammit!)_

"There's not anything alright."

_(Let me have the pleasure of informing you, Mr. Weasley, what this little escapade will warrant you and your friends…)_

_(If you could have know, Ron, how much it meant to her. All the world)_

_(But for me too, me too, more than the world to me)_

_(Did she really)_

_(Of course she did, how could she not, what have I _done, _what have I)_

_(Lost, lost, just like everything else, can't you just do something right, it's all over, _all over_, don't you realize)_

_(I know)_

The red-headed boy let out deep, dry, wracking sobs, sitting up in his bed with his too-short pajama sleeves. His body convulsed with them. He didn't try to muffle them, and as he moved painfully with his grief, not once did he look up. 

                                                                        ***

Ron didn't want to talk about it. It was the last thing he wanted to have to relive in his mind by confiding in someone. Harry understood. He didn't ask him about it, and waited for him to bring it up. 

Ginny didn't care. 

"_Ron Weasley._" For an instant, Ron thought she looked exactly like their mum. Her cheeks were flushed, hair coming loose, eyes narrowed, and at any moment he felt she was going to start shaking her finger at him with that anger that soon led to it hitting him upside the head. She looked like a vengeful spirit. She was. 

"How could you do this? _How,_ Ron? Do you know what this has done to her?"

Ron didn't know what he could do. Normally, he would deny it all, saying he didn't do anything, but what do you do when you deserve every word that is said and more? Much, much more. 

Harry stepped in. "Ginny, I –"

"I what? Don't you _realize what this great prat has just done? Don't you see how he completely ruined it all because some Russian bint tempted him for five seconds?"_

"Yes, Ginny. I do." Ron looked at her quietly.

Ginny went utterly silent. 

"Do you know where Hermione is?"

Looking helplessly at her older brother, Ginny said, "Charms room. Doing some project. But Ron –"

He was gone. 

"It's not going to be any use. No use," she continued, looking into the empty space before her. "They will each have a broken heart."

Harry stammered. "Are you –"

"Oh yes. And I wish I wasn't."

                                                            ***

When she saw him she started to gather up her books. Her face was set in an unmovable mask and her back turned towards him, like a wall. 

"Hermione?"

The movements of her hands sped up. 

"Hermione, I wish I could take it all back."

He didn't expect her to, but she straightened up and turned around. Her eyes glistened, but there was no vulnerability in her face whatsoever. "But you can't, Ron." She gazed at something just above his shoulder, and the resolve was so hardened it hurt to look at. "You can't."

"Don't you believe that I love you? Irina was just something I did because I was drunk, Hermione, I –"

"I know, Ron." There was something almost wistful in her eyes now, almost like finally letting a dream go even when it hurts you so much you almost don't think it's worth it. "I know. But I just don't trust you anymore."

"Don't trust me? I would never do this again, _never!"_

The regretful look snapped. Instead there was only iron determination. She spoke through nearly gritted teeth. "Ron. I would believe that. But I never thought you would ever do something like this to me once. And you _did_. And that makes all the difference."

Ron was frantic. He couldn't let her just walk away, leave him. He couldn't lose her, he had thought he had lost her before many times, but this was ever so much more final. It was a coffin lid slamming shut with dreadful finality. "Just give me a second chance, Hermione. I love you."

Hermione had her books in her hands. She looked right in his eyes, and there Ron saw only an impenetrable decision. "Second chances are only in books." She walked quickly towards the door, as Ron stood helpless. With sudden desperation he lunged towards her, grabbing her arm, cupping her cheek. 

"Let _go of me_!" Hermione cried, fierce like a wounded animal. Wrenching her arm from his grip, she ran through the arched doorways.

Her robe flashed around the corner like the last piece of an elusive waking reverie, evanescent and intangible. 

                                                                        ***

Stumbling through a world full of more shadows than those that linger in the corners of the nightmare world is dully painful. It is not a piercing pain, but a dull ache that sometimes becomes so overwhelming as it builds up beneath your skin like a cruel and torturous being, the pressure more and more unbearable. As you wade through that place, the grey wisps of forlorn dreams linger, catching your gaze every once and a while with their still potent allure. They drift by with the longing sigh that makes them what they are. And they echo within you.

This is the pain. The pain is watching the hopes you had turn into crippled lonely empty things, watch as they fade away into reflections of what could have been. The pain is not being able to turn away. And the pain is knowing just how real they once were, and remembering. The memories fuel the pain, with their innate and perfect and unrelenting recollection of glances, and touches, and moments.

                                                                        ***

There was quiet in Gryffindor. Quiet and gentleness, above all. No one doubted Ron's pain as genuine. No one doubted Hermione's decision as justified. And so there was the kindness of smiles freely given, even more stinging with their sympathy and their inevitable pity. There were times when Ron suddenly blinked very hard, and when Hermione put her head in her hands in the middle of a study session. They aged so much, both of them, weary in their eyes. Their eyes were far too old. 


	12. Unexpected Things

Chapter 12: Unexpected Things

Author's Note: Yes, I'm updating! Rather quickly, too! I'm v. proud of that. Anyways, this chapter is much longer than last one, and I can see with perfect certainty that there are going to be three more chapters. Yes, and then this will end for certain. But that could take a while. In this chapter, I reveal my soft spot for Snape I've always tried to keep secret. It's all out now. And thank yous go to:

Sea: Absolutely. Thank you!

Jaffacake: Thank you, I'm glad you like the music and the sonnets. It is definitely not too late for them to be happy. Far, far from

Julia Griever: Aww thank you!

Felicia: Don't cry! I'm sorry, there's a happy ending. Indeed, RW/HG forever!

Gillian: The next chapter is up! Not happy yet…but soon…

Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling, the books would be called, "Ron and Hermione and the Philosopher's Stone…Ron and Hermione and the Chamber of Secrets….Ron and Hermione and the Unavoidable Fluffy Situation…." To tell the truth, I like the ring of that. But they're not. Therefore, I'm not J.K. 

_I never will forget that look upon your face_

_How you turned away and left without a trace_

_But I understand that you did what you had to do_

_I know you had to go away_

_I died just a little, and I feel it now_

_You're the one I need_

_I believe that I would cry just a little_

_Just to have you back now_

_Here with me_

_Here with me…._

-Michelle Branch, "Here With Me"

Life went on for the rest of the school. It always goes on, no matter the incident that disrupted it. Ron and Hermione recovered outwardly. Outwardly is the best word because there were always times when Ron looked off into the distance and his eyes were just as tired as they had been immediately afterwards, as if it was only by effort that he kept the painless expression on his face day by day. Harry saw him when he thought no one was looking. 

The punishment for all those found at the party was severe. Each person was to serve at least three months in detention every Friday and Saturday night, owls had been sent to their parents informing them that with another such escapade the school would be forced to expel them, and all weekends at Hogsmeade had been revoked except for the last at the end of the year. Points had been taken from all four houses, but out of the 400 points deducted from the houses there was a notable maximum from Gryffindor, and a minimum from Slytherin. It was obvious that Professor Snape's discipline had been tempered by someone else, as otherwise the entire party would have been expelled. Some believed it was Professor Flitwick who was responsible for this: a student had overheard him remarking that it was "all in good fun, I did it too when I was their age." 

When Professor McGonagall returned from "somewhere in Scotland," it was believed that if she could have, she would have taken off extra points for their having given Snape something to lord over her about. Or, possibly, just because she didn't get to take the points off the first time. 

The only person affected differently was Irina. As she was an exchange student, and agreements had been made so that if there was one major rule-breaking occasion, her stay at Hogwarts would be permanently over. A week after the party, she was to leave Hogwarts in a state of disgrace. This would be done by Floo Powder. All who desired a proper farewell were to do it very quickly in Dumbledore's office, where the fireplace through which she was to depart was located. 

As Irina stood by the worn tapestry that depicted various frames, and that an experienced eye would have found bore great resemblance to the Bayeux Tapestry, one could see in her eyes something trying to be proud indifference, but it was obvious that her egocentric nature had been greatly harmed by the fact that not one of her many, now apparently former, suitors had deigned to see her off. Her eyes narrowed, but there was no one there to care. Her head flicked suddenly to one side, hearing movement, and anticipating a love-struck fool to whom she could be cruel and playful, but instead saw something very different.

Harry and Ginny stood, smiling. Irina looked shocked, and within her black eyes, there was a tiny spark of fire.

"Goodbye Irina!" Ginny said sweetly, running over to hug her. Irina pushed her away, causing her to tumble to the ground near the fireplace. 

"What do you care?"

Harry beamed genially at her. "See, we just wanted to explain exactly _why none of your captive boys are here."_

Nodding, Ginny continued. "It's because, when you did that at the party, they all realized –"

"- why bother wasting time on a bitch."

Irina narrowed her eyes. Harry reflected that that was really all she ever did. 

"Was that supposed to be the best insult you could conjure up? Because it's _pathetic_."

"We're not done yet. Now, the pretty much unanimous vote on you, considering how you did cause two very happy people to become very unhappy, not to mention poor Justin, is that you were never really that pretty anyhow."

"And, Irina?" Ginny leaned forward, as if she were about to tell her a secret. "We looked up your family. We were surprised that you came from such a nice ordinary family of shopkeepers when what did you tell us? Ugh, I can't remember. Anyways, they actually sounded much nicer than you. Do you have any siblings that aren't bloated on self-importance?"

The girl was actually stunned into resentful silence.

"Yes. Bye, Irina. We hope we never, ever see you again."

As they turned and walked away, Irina quickly recovered. "Pathetic!" she screeched after them. "That was pathetic!"

They ignored her. Once they were a suitable distance away, Harry leaned over to Ginny. "Did the powder go in all right?"

Nodding, Ginny had what could only be described as a smirk on her face. "Yes. When Irina uses that Floo powder, she will emerge from the fireplace most unfortunately covered with blisters that no school nurse has ever encountered before."

Harry smiled with the simple happiness of a child. 

"God, your brothers are geniuses."

                                                ***

Ron was tired of thinking. That was all it was. If he thought, he had to remember. He couldn't bear that. When he did things now, he did them in an automated fashion, almost blindly, his mind somewhere else or trying to hide where nothing could touch it. Watching him was painful, especially to Harry, like the shell of something that had once been. Ron knew this. He tried to be light-handed like he used to be, tried to make jokes and be his normal self. That was even more painful for Harry, the forced laughter and the hollow insults. 

Hermione didn't sit with them anymore. Ron knew that when he wasn't around she talked to Harry, knew that once or twice when he had walked into the Great Hall there had been a flurry and a brown head had gone bobbing away. He knew that she avoided him. He didn't try to contest that. He had seen the only thing that it could do, when he had tried to talk to her. His emotions betrayed him. They always did. They made him seem so insincere, so grasping, like a paltry and pathetic child. He wanted anything except for Hermione to think of him that way. 

He wondered if there had ever been a chance. Maybe it had been tempting fate.

Fate – 

Something was niggling at the back of his mind. He couldn't quite get a hold of it, it slipped through his mind's eye. 

And then suddenly he knew. Divination. The "crystal ball." It all came back with a sudden rush of clarity. 

The End of Year Ball – it had come true, didn't it? There was going to be a ball…If that, why not the rest of it? There was still time, enough time for all of this nightmare to be over, plenty enough time for his vision to finally right itself and his life. 

If Ron had not foreseen the Ball, if that had not given him faith in this vision, he would not have assumed the other. But to have a spark of hope in his too dim life was so tempting to his mind that it accepted it without question. Any outsider would have found it intensely amusing that 

Thoughts spun through his head like Golden Snitches. It wasn't all over – Hermione _couldn't_ hate him forever – It would happen, it had to happen, it didn't matter when but it would be soon, so soon. She wasn't lost.

"Ron?"

Ron spun round to see Harry. "Uh, yes, Harry?"

"Are you, er, okay?"

"Yes! Of course I'm okay!" Ron babbled, attempting to cover his sudden elation for a reason he couldn't guess. Why wouldn't he want Harry to know? He probably hadn't noticed though, anyway, he hoped. 

At that precise moment, as Harry regarded him suspiciously, he was thinking _does he think I'm stupid? He hasn't looked this happy for days. _

"What's our next class again?"

"Potions."

Ron grinned. "Oh, not Snape. If I do so much as breathe loudly today, he's going to expel me and probably throw in a year in Azkaban to boot. You can tell he's just longing for it."

Harry smiled weakly. It was so disconcerting, to have your best friend suddenly act as if he had been taken over by very overly happy aliens or something. "Yeah, watch your step, Ron."

Ron actually beamed. It actually looked like his eyes lit up with a light behind them. 

Harry gaped.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" 

Stuttering, Harry shook his head. "Uh, everything's fine, Ron. Uh, let's go?"

They walked off to Potions together. As they passed through the doors to the Dungeons, Harry snuck glances every once in a while at his friend. 

Ron was oblivious to this. Walking through, he noticed Hermione sneak in after them, and seat herself far away from them. It came with the same sudden sharp jab of loss that it always did, but this time the jab was tempered with a balm. It could still be mended.

Sitting down, Ron and Harry had barely gotten comfortable before Snape stalked in. "Class, begin the preparation of your engorgement potions. Mr. Weasley, my office please."

Ron looked at Harry with an incredulous face. "I haven't even had _time to do anything!" he whispered, trying to get out of his chair without horrendously falling or something. Hermione watched him go into the room with concern. _

Once inside, Ron sat across the desk from Snape tentatively. He expected at any moment an axe to drop down from the ceiling and decapitate him, or something similar. Instead Snape merely sat there with his usual expression of distaste, not uttering a word.

Ron didn't want to say anything. It was far too risky, in his opinion.

Snape stood up suddenly. He strolled over to a cauldron emitting a faintly noxious green fog and began to speak. 

"I want you first to know that I have never harbored any affection at all for you and your friends, Mr. Weasley."

Ron was even more confused now. Did Snape think that he showed it? Did he honestly think that the way he acted made it seem as if he wanted to reach out and embrace Gryffindor as a whole with tenderness and compassion?

"You hate me, I know that," the figure in the corner said, sending jolts of apprehension through Ron for a moment, until he heard the next comment: "And rest assured I hold no different emotion for you."

Ron stared incredulously at Snape's back. Snape didn't just invite students in for friendly little chats.

The form in the corner seemed to straighten almost imperceptibly. "But there are some things to which I do not stoop, regardless of my…disregard." Snape spun round. "I am referring, of course, to the comment I made to Miss Granger."

Ron had thought he couldn't possibly be more flabbergasted. He had been wrong. 

"I do not presume to like Miss Granger. In fact, I can barely tolerate her. But this is because of her personality. It is not because she is Muggle-born."

"One may assume that as the head of Slytherin house, I share the sentiments of some students within. I do not. One of the things that I abhor is the prejudice against Muggle-born wizards. I find it illogical as well, seeing as how the most recent leader of these people was half Muggle-born himself."

"Do not take this, Mr. Weasley, as a proposition of something like a truce, where I would favour you and your friends. You all annoy me considerably. I still cannot stand your friend Miss Granger, and certainly not our dear Potter. But I loath you because you are _yourselves_, not because of some silly bloodline.  I lost my temper that day and the words of others came out of my mouth instead. I suppose this is an apology, something it pains me to give."

Ron found words. "I understand, Professor."

Snape looked at him. Ron saw still no respect in the dark eyes. But he felt sure that Snape, looking back into his, would catch more than a glimmer. 

"You may go, Mr. Weasley."

                                                                        ***

After Potions class, Harry approached the situation cautiously. Since Ron was still at Hogwarts and not off packing his bags to go back the Burrow, he assumed that it had not been catastrophic. On the other hand, his friend was so quiet and contemplative it was as if he had actually had a nice chat or something. Which was, obviously, impossible. 

"Ron? What happened?"

Ron was silent for a moment, trying to decide just what he should tell Harry. Then again, he didn't really see why he would have to keep this from him. 

As he explained, Harry's mouth fell open, his eyes grew to unreached levels, and Ron was almost afraid he would do something…..irrational.

"No. You are _joking_. Snape apologized? Snape. _Severus Snape. Who teaches us Potions. Who hates us all and wishes we were dead?"_

"Well, he never denied that bit, now did he?"

"No. It's impossible. That's insane."

"That's how I felt too."

"Wait, Ron! There's a solution. This has got to be the only explanation."

"What?"

"It's just like fourth year. Some Deatheater has gone undercover and he's drinking Polyjuice Potion every hour to keep Snape's form."

"_Gross! Can you imagine having to drink something from Snape every _hour_?"_

They both shuddered.

"But, seriously, Ron –"

Ron shook his head. "No, Harry. I think he was being serious. He almost looked…regretful."

Covering his ears exaggeratedly, Harry clenched his eyes shut. "This is all wrong. There are only a few things in this world that are assured and never, ever, ever change. The first is that the earth revolves around the sun. The second is that Dudley will never, ever get a girl. And the third is, of course, that Snape never apologizes. This disrupts everything, Ron. I could have accepted the sun revolving the earth more easily."

"You didn't have to _see_ it. I would have slapped myself if I could have moved."

                                                                        ***

Ron noted with increasing apprehension that the entire school has been taken over with an infection in preparing for the End of Year Ball. Girls giggled round corners about their dresses, and boys were either anticipatory or awfully procrastinating. 

But other than that, it was relatively the same. Ron thought he saw everything that went on; he did a lot of quiet observing now. 

He didn't. He didn't, for example, know that there was a set of unwritten rules that had permeated the school's subconscious. 

These rules were: Firstly, _never_ mention Hermione to Ron. And secondly, _never_ mention Ron to Hermione.

It was very strictly followed. Only a few times had these rules been broken – the results had been awkward, and painful, but all present had hurried to remedy the situation. Once, a very loose Neville had repeated a comment of Ron's to Hermione. She had turned a very pale white and immediately asked to be excused to the library, as she had to research something. Neville had been shamefaced and had had to be restrained from cursing himself, as they were all afraid he'd do something much worse than just locking his mouth shut. 

Colin had mentioned it to Ron, asking why Hermione never hung around Harry and Ron anymore (Colin had always been a little out of it when it came to social gossip). Ron had slumped to the desk he had been sitting at, and sunk his head below his arms for a good half-hour. When Colin had _finally been filled in, he had understood the need for discretion. His camera had been confiscated. _

So, probably a great deal more people looked upon them with pity then they would have liked. Ron and Hermione, above all, did not want pity. They did not want attention.

All the same, there was a rather peculiar conversation that took place in the Gryffindor common room while Hermione was at the library (she always seemed to be at the library, these days) and Ron was trying to find Errol, who had passed out somewhere on the school grounds after being used once more as a last resort. 

Harry, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Colin, and actually all the Gryffindor males were seated before the fire, in what looked to be a make-shift meeting that Harry had called up. 

"Right. The Ball is coming up, as I'm sure that you've all noticed. Most of us are asking around for partners, right? A lot of us are noticing that our first choices already have a date?"

There were rueful nods.

"Well, while you're scrambling around desperately for females, remember this: _no one is to ask Hermione. Alright? Hermione is hands-off. It's to be agreed in all the other Houses as well."_

Although there was considerably less than Harry had predicted, there were still some uncomfortable faces.

"Are - are you sure that's fair to Hermione, Harry?" one piped up rather nervously. "I already have a date, but won't she want one?"

Harry looked quickly at the floor. "I know, I know how it sounds. But if we don't do this, then we risk Ron. Ron is upset enough already. Imagine how much worse it could get. 

_Everyone_ winced. 

"Besides, Hermione doesn't usually _care_ about these kinds of things anyways, right? And she probably wouldn't even want to go, if she was asked: we all know she's no less upset than Ron."

There were nods of agreement this time. "Maybe if we get them both smashed enough this time, Ron'll kiss _her_ and she'll be too drunk to remember the other thing, and it'll all be alright again?" Seamus said hopefully.

No one responded to this. They knew Seamus knew just as well the impossibility of the situation.

"So that's decided," Harry said resolutely, getting up and raking his fingers through his, as usual, messy hair. "Dean, Seamus, can you go tell the guys in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff too?"

When Ron and Hermione came back, careful not to enter at the same time making contact inescapable, nothing was out of the ordinary; if the rest of the House looked up at them a little more often than usual, neither of them noticed. 

                                                            ***

Time passed. The days left until the Ball slowly counted down. Ron awaited them with something akin to eagerness, for as the time had elapsed he had become more and more sure in the knowledge that the separation from Hermione would not last long. That tiny seed of hope had grown considerably, and was now a full-fledged thing that seemed to fuel Ron. Those who talked to him found him jovial, and amusing; most of them were confused by the sudden change in attitudes, but none of them inquired as to why. Ron was not worried by this, in fact he never even considered it. He viewed this space of time as something unpleasant that would soon be over, something he could very soon put behind him forever.

                                                                        ***

Hermione is in the library. She is sitting at her usual spot, the one that no one else ever sits in, scribbling furiously at the parchment in front of her, pausing only to place the stray lock of golden-brown hair (no longer with any attempt of taming) behind her ear. It falls down again immediately. As if a switch has been turned she stops suddenly, almost out of breath – the wayward curl in front of one of her brown eyes. She is staring blindly to the front, at first, until something at where she is absentmindedly watching comes into focus. It is a library shelf, directly ahead of where she works, and someone has wrongly categorized a book.

She looks numbly at the title, something that she never saw till now, as if some cruel and bored god had stopped time for an instant to change the scene in which she plays just for amusement. It is a small book of Shakespeare's sonnets.

The title might as well have blinded her, for she remains completely motionless. Maybe what she is so intent upon blurs for a moment; maybe it does not. 

With sudden intensity, she jams the book behind the others, hidden now, although she knows it is there. She gazes at where is used to be.  


	13. A Little Faith

Chapter 13: A Little Faith

Author's Note: Yes, yes, finally here. I'm so awful for letting everyone wait *hides* Don't hate me for this chapter. You already do, never mind. Thank you, darling loyal reviewers!

Disclaimer: I had this really witty one all plotted out to "Oops I Did It Again." Then it got stuck in my head and nearly drove me mad. I don't bloody well own it, eh?

_If I don't make it known that   
I've loved you all along   
Just like sunny days that   
We ignore because   
We're all dumb and jaded   
And I hope God I figure out   
What's wrong_

- Our Lady Peace, "4 AM"

If Ron had thought the school was preparing for the End of the Year Ball before, it was absolutely nothing compared to now. It had been quite preparations, but now the entire school seemed caught up in the bustle and hurry of finding the _perfect dress, managing to get that punch stain out of your dress robes, and the everlasting dilemma of locating a date. _

Ron had actually put forward an experiment: he had spent an entire evening sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room and observing those who passed by. It had been very amusing. He keep track and found that he had seen twelve invitations to the ball, five of which were accepted, four that were rejected because of prior attachments, and three that received a "With _you_?" 

He watched as boys and girls and young men and women ran to and fro, sending owls to their parents for extra pocket money, to catalogues for things that those they were bought for inevitably didn't notice. He thought it was almost like life, wasn't it, scurrying about for those goals that never really mattered once they were finished, that never really mattered at all. 

He nearly promised himself not to waste time on things like that. He realized just before how pointless it was. Everyone promised that at some point, didn't they? Everyone vowed to live their life the right way, to seize every moment for what it was, to only make the right decisions. But it never quite came through. They always slipped away unnoticed, forgotten as their luster grew less alluring and it did not seem quite so pressing to make the best of life while you had it.

                                                                                                ***

Harry was not so caught up in his joy of going to the Ball with Cho that he forgot his friend. Harry had never been like that. He noticed what Ron did; he did not, no matter how long he had looked at Cho across a Great Hall, forget his stolid and reliable friend in the glamour of new love. He hardly mentioned Cho at all anymore. Ron noticed this. He knew why. He was thankful, at heart, but sometimes wished that the absence of Cho was not so obvious. It was like how a cripple feels when people believe they are being considerate for not looking at his differences. The cripple notices, and sometimes he wishes they would just look outright and acknowledge it. He has to live with it everyday, why shouldn't they? In bitter moments, he thought they were only sparing themselves the awkwardness.

But it was probably best, despite that. And Harry did this not for himself, since he did have to live with it as the one caught between the two, equal loyalty and concern for each. He knew Ron – he knew the sorrow was already eating at him like a canker, without the added jealousy, no matter how it might try to be contained because of the friendship, and he did not want to cause his friend more pain. 

Ron never knew how much he really meant to Harry. To Harry, a friend had been something he had hardly ever dreamed about. It had been something other luckier people had. He was always amazed, somehow, that people didn't think of him what they had always thought of him in his earlier life; the odd one out, the strange one. On Harry his fame was still resting uneasily, he could not understand that people would want to be friends with him only because of his name. Or maybe he did, and the fact that Ron had never cared about that made the friendship worth as much as it did. Harry saw the insignificance Ron felt next to him, and he wished so much that he could take it away; it was a blemish, an unnecessary and untrue complication that to him had never made any difference in how he saw Ron. But it mattered to Ron, it mattered so much that it hurt Harry sometimes. 

Harry knew Ron didn't know this, he knew Ron would never even consider this. Harry thought a lot about what would happen if sometime he didn't have the luck he always had with Voldemort, if one day it all just left him and he became the ordinary boy he knew he was inside. He would die for Ron. He had always known this. But he knew, also, very well, too well, that Ron would see this as a waste: something impractical done to save someone who was inconsequential. Harry hated that more than anything. He hated that someone who meant so much to him, who always would be there as someone who was fiercely loyal in his doubt and the first person Harry had ever met willing to take up that position, would make a mockery of their life. Because it was a mockery, it was a trivialization of something that could turn out to be so much more important that anyone had ever thought.

Maybe Ron got a glimmer of this at times, or maybe he was too blinded by his firm belief that no one would waste their time in caring that much about him. 

But Harry couldn't shield Ron from everything. He knew that there were some things he had to do in front of Ron that would remind him of what he could not help remembering, and he did not want to substitute the pain that reigned now with one of isolation.

And so Harry was standing there, trying on his dress robes to see if they still fit. Ron knew they did, and he thought about his midnight blue dress robes given to him on a Christmas a long, long time ago. He thought about who had given them to him. He tried not to let himself sink down. Harry saw his reflection in the mirror. 

"Hey, Ron?"

Ron stirred, realizing that sometimes it hurt a little to be dragged out of the depths, implausible though it sounded. 

"You coming to the Ball?"

Ron let out a forced, incredulous laugh. "Harry? Are you serious?"

Harry nodded. "I'm very serious, Ron." And he was. Ron could hardly understand why.

"But, why? Is there anything it could possibly do but – mess it all up even more? Remind me of what I, let's _face it Harry, threw away like a real idiot?"_

Harry didn't even wince. He didn't even cringe at the fact that they had spoken outright about it, taken out his disability to the forefront. It was there, in front of them there – it bothered Ron more than it did Harry.

"Because, Ron. If you don't come you will merely sit here and think about what is happening there. You will think about what could be happening. All you'll do is remember and you'll linger on all the possibilities. And I won't be able to stop you. I won't be able to stop you if you come, as well, but at least I can know that you're not alone with yourself. Alright?"

Ron could hardly think of anything to say to that. He knew that his desire to remain curled up in himself was strong, but he had forgotten that loyalty was stronger. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He wanted to remain with not only the ever-present misery, but with the string of hope that he was now spinning throughout the misery, a gently permeating strand.

But he, somehow, couldn't say no. It was difficult to explain.

"Fine. I'll come."

And Harry smiled, as if he knew everything that had ran through his mind.

                                                                                ***

So Ron existed in his fragile world of glass mirrors and dream sculptures, and Hermione existed in her world of dusty books that shielded her from too sharp memories. 

And Ginny tried to take her out of the tomes she lived in now. She found Hermione in the library one day (again) and sat down besides her so that the pages quivered in Hermione's manuscript.

"Hi, Hermione."

Hermione looked up, her face like a query, wondering why someone had bothered her in her quiet absorbency. 

Ginny saw the look. She rolled her eyes, but not unkindly. "It's Ginny. Remember me? The girl you know once, a long time ago, before you relocated to the library."

Hermione smiled. It was an almost strange feeling. "Really, Ginny, I haven't relocated. But there's a lot of work that I suddenly realized I'd been neglecting."

Ginny raised her eyebrow.

"I _know what that means, Ginny. And that's not true."_

Hermione looked at her friend, and relented. 

"It might be a factor. But it's _only_ a factor."

Shaking her head, Ginny decided that it simply wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth making Hermione admit it so that her thin walls of distance were torn down and her safety taken away. "Never mind, Hermione." 

Hermione was relieved, keeping the walls she wouldn't say she had around her, feeling them grow sturdier. They were her protection, her denial. She liked to tell herself she was over it. She liked to think that Ron was something she never should have done, something undeniably in her past, something wrong that she could leave behind. 

She was too smart to believe it. But she thought it anyway.

"Hermione, you need to come to the Ball."

Hermione looked up, startled. Of all the things she had been waiting for and preparing herself for, that was not one of them. "What? Is this some sort of –"

Ginny looked embarrassed. "No, it's nothing like that. We all respect your decision. But you can't just spend your life here, Hermione! You're going to get dusty soon! You'll become part of the furniture."

Hermione tried not to think about how that really didn't sound too awful. Libraries were reliable. They were quiet and when you sat very still you could hear the books breathing. She never told anyone that.

"But, Ginny. No! It just – wouldn't work."

"Please, Hermione?"

And maybe it was because Ginny was just a little too much like Ron. Hermione probably didn't know that was why. But it was the red hair, and how the blue eyes were really so similar to something that Hermione tried to get off her mind.

"I'll go, Ginny. But nothing like – you know."

Ginny was grateful. She had nothing planned, except maybe an escape from Hermione's escape. Ginny was afraid the escape would become a cage. 

                                                                                                ***

A little later, with the reluctance and offhandedness that comes when we are trying to seem uninterested and detached:

"Hey, do you know if Hermione has a date?"

And with that, the small, knowing smile, concealed for the feelings, yet at the back of the mind a constant worry of what if something goes even further wrong now, what if by telling him I am laying the path that he will follow to further destruction?

"No, she doesn't."

The seed is lain; the curtain is drawn; it is now afoot. 

                                                                                             ***

We know what goes on in his mind, how could we not. It is proof – it is inescapable evidence – it is release. 

He has no longer doubt in his mind, he has only certainty.

Others could see fallacy in this – Ron could not. To the mind that has been without hope for so long, implausible belief means so much. It can consume. It eclipses reason. It did this to Ron. And who can blame him. 

And so, once more, the players on the stage take their places, for it is time for the final act. 

                                                                                    ***

Hermione hadn't known that the library could close. She actually didn't think it did. Therefore she eyed Madame Pince with suspicion when she was informed of this. 

"Yes, Hermione. _Closed."_

"But Madame Pince – that's not something I've heard of before –"

Madame Pince came the closest to looking exactly like Hermione when she was angry that anyone ever could. A tendril of hair came out of her usually tight hair twist, and her eyes were furrowed with determined worry.

"It's happening now. Do you realize, Hermione, that –" she stopped, and composed herself. Maybe as Hermione looked up at her, confused and a little frightened almost to be torn away from her life force, she felt a wave of pity for someone who is lost but would never admit it. "It's closed."

Hermione shuffled her books together looking slightly disoriented. She left the library, with Madame Pince remembering Hermione since she had first come here. She never had favorites, but if she did, we can imagine that her pride would go out to the small girl who has grown among the manuscripts. The girl had hardly ever spoken to her, but from the first time she had seen how the brown head bent over the books and the brow furrowed and the hands worked, something had gone out from her to the child.

As Hermione left the library, she met someone she could hardly have wanted to avoid more. A flushed face, like he had been running. Ron looked at her as if the words had flown out his mouth.

Hermione saw him standing there, wanting to say something, and she wanted to move. She almost did. But he saw, and quickly he blurted it out, needing to begin this and state what he intended. This was not an accident.

"Hermione."

Hermione refused to be affected by this. She was above this, she was beyond it all, she was over him. She began to give him a firm nod, expressing this firmly, showing him the finality of it all. He moved between her exit path.

He tried to find something to say to express it all, and then he realized that it didn't matter and he let it spill out in a flow of words that to him was beautiful and free. It made sense to him.

"It can all still work out, Hermione – it's not over, I know it can't be, I'm so sorry, you know that now. Can't we put it behind us? I know we can, I'm sure we can. Let me take you to the Ball, let it all be over. Hermione?"

Hermione was stunned, but perhaps behind her face there was a little bit of expectation. She looked at Ron, the way he was now: tall, gangly, earnest, awkward. He was still so young to her in that moment. 

So she spoke the way you would speak to a child that made you uneasy and yet sad. "What? What is it?" Her face didn't hold anything to prompt Ron on, and if behind it there was something else, she did not let it betray her. 

"I love you, don't you still love me? Nothing's changed, Hermione. We can go, it can all be over, it's so awful right now and you know it but soon it'll only be the past. I'm sorry. It has to end. It will end. I know it will, there's no way it couldn't, not now at any rate. Not with everything else."

And now Hermione was set at sea. What could he know? For her, the tension crackled in the air around her, she thought her hair was probably making an aura around her, golden brown and electric with the current. Ron did not sense it. 

"I _saw it, Hermione, I saw it. It was so long ago and I didn't believe it then but what if it's _true_, Hermione. I saw us at the Ball together and it has to work out then, doesn't it? Together, I saw us, and it was so real, too real, you know what I mean, don't you?"_

It was like a lightning bolt interrupting the world around us, when it cuts through the moment and shatter sit with its intensity, the burning _now_ of it, the ferocity that shocks us. But when Hermione was a lightning bolt, it was mixed with something that Ron would not be able to identify. It might have been grief. 

"I am not a foregone conclusion, Ron! _ I am – not – your – fate_!"

When she spun away it was like the tailwind of a tornado that feels the pain of those it has injured. 


	14. The Heart's Tempest

Chapter 14:  The Heart's Tempest

Author's Note: Excuse me whilst I sob. This, my friends, my darling reviewers, is the end. I'm posting two chapters at the same time. This is _not_ the end. This is the second last chapter. Please, read the last and don't hate me. I didn't want to make a note on that one because it would ruin the "atmosphere", honestly, it's true. Anyway, about this story – I like to think that it bloomed near the end. It was very simple when it began, but now when I look at it I get really sad and wistful because I'm ending it. I really hope you enjoyed this as much as I do. To all who reviewed, thank you so much. You fueled this story. And so, go on and read now. I'm saying goodbye to _A Lapse in Logic. It's going to be hard to leave it. _

Disclaimer: No. I don't own them. –sob- 

Dedication: I'd like to dedicate Chapter 14 to all you reviewers, everyone who took the time to stop by and review. Thank you so much. 

                                                                                **

The days after that didn't matter. 

But soon it was the day of the ball, and Ron regretted the promise he had made to Harry with every ounce of being still left in his soul. Harry held him to it. What else would he do?

As he got into his dress robes, and as the satiny fabric covered his skin, he felt his eyes burn, and he didn't want to cry because he'd done it so many times before, muffled by the scratchiness of the pillow. He knew that his dorm mates knew anyway. He wasn't sure whether or not they would look down on him, and most of the time he was certain that they would not lose respect. But he hid it anyway, as if it was something to be ashamed of. These things were so uncertain in his mind. It was too full, and yet too empty – there were so many thoughts but nothing could be made from them. 

He waited in the dorm because he couldn't stand to see all the people, sure in each other, holding hands and their faces glowing with the happiness of the moment. He wished that he could have only a moment, even if he knew that it was temporary; but he had already had his moment. It hadn't been enough. 

Harry had his dress robes on and he tried to comb his hair with his hands, but there was always that peak that insisted on springing up. Ron reflected that he was more dashing without effort than he could be with help, or someone to believe that he was – he had neither. Harry looked uncertainly at Ron, and Ron knew what he was thinking. What place did he have in the romantic walk to the ballroom? And Ron was not yet ready to plague his friend with his misery. So he gave a little half-smile and walked out of the common room, to find a bench in the corner of the hall. It would be amusing to him, in another time and place, to see himself as this boy who sat by himself. But he only wished that he could fold in upon himself, like paper in the flame. 

When Harry and Cho descended the stairs they were to Ron for a moment dazzling. They had everything he did not, and in his mind they glowed, shone with a light contained within. If he could have sheltered his mind's eye with his forearm, he would have, trying to hide from this eclipsing radiance, this indefatigable happiness. They walked as if dusted with brilliance, Cho's hair with illumination between the strands, Harry's face an orb of purity. He could never describe it later, but it was like being in the presence of those possessing something beyond his reach. The change in their appearance could have been from the sudden blurring of his eyes. 

                                                                                **

The Hall was beautiful. How could it not be? The tables had been removed, once again, and it looked so much like that Ball two years ago that his throat felt sore. That had been a very long time ago. Around him other couples floated, ethereal, graceful. He plodded along behind them. Amidst the laughter and the smiles he felt weighted down. He would have liked to be able to say that it was a little overdone, the floor that was wreathed in mist so that one felt one was walking on air, the faeries who had been hired to hover in the air and let their dust float down amidst the scented haze, the moonlight that streamed forth from the enchanted ceiling, and the lilies-of-the-valley that had somehow been induced to grow over the walls. But he couldn't. From an outsider's point of view, someone _not there it would have seemed so, it would have been exaggerated and false, but to someone there, there was no denying its perfection. He wanted to find fault with it and the people who walked through it, but it was impossible to do honestly. And lying to himself, again, was something he chose to stay away from. _

Everyone walked through this gentle and dusky paradise, bathed in soft tempered light and it seemed magical even to witches and wizards. It was a different sort of magic, though, not one that could be grasped with wands and incantations, correct form and knowledge. It was a magic of the soul, not the mind. It wanted to take Ron in too, but he couldn't let it. If he believed in it again, he knew it would only fall down, when this flawless and soft world faded away into everything else. 

So he sat down at their table. It was bound to be for the whole night, and he made himself as comfortable as he could bear to, watching others flit from place to place. He ate, with Harry next to him but not really next to him, next to Cho instead. Talking to the back of a head was difficult, and Ron didn't feel like talking anyway. After supper Cho went off to "fix" her hair and everything else that could be fixed within the confines of the girls' toilet, and Harry turned to Ron, apologizing within his mind for forgetting him, though he couldn't help it. Ron was watching with as much interest as he could muster the band that Dumbledore had obtained for tonight, setting up. Harry's eyes widened a bit when he saw who they were. 

"Hey, Harry? I can't figure out who they are." Ron said, with an effort to be light and jovial. It was painful to listen to, but Harry tried not to think about that. 

"They're Muggles, that's why, Ron. I heard that he was going to be hiring someone surprising, but I never expected _them_. Her - " Harry stopped short, and tried to pretend that he hadn't been going to say what it was so obvious he was. He dodged Ron's glance and looked down at the floor instead. "Someone told me that Dumbledore cast the memory charm himself, so that this entire night will seem perfectly ordinary to them, and then next morning they will not remember the oddities of it. I think he wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be any permanent damage, or something."

Ron nodded. Why did it hurt to know that Hermione was still speaking to Harry? Well, why shouldn't she? He hadn't taken every chance given to him and broken it. 

The band started. Cho came back, and Harry gave Ron yet another apologetic look, then drifted off to the dance floor. It was like Ron was finally able to touch his one and only Divination, Cho and Harry spinning on what looked like wisps of cloud, but he and Hermione had been excised neatly from it, leaving not even an empty space. He searched the ballroom, but wouldn't admit what he was looking for until he finally saw it, just as the band began their third song, rather ironically, he thought, as if the soundtrack to his life had already been planned out. There were no words yet, and Ron tried not to let the simple chords affect him. 

She hadn't bothered with anything. Far from the sleek and poised Hermione of two years ago, hair in place and face glowing, with that powder blue dress, she had not even put on dress robes. Her daily robes were dusty, and worn. Her hair had no semblance of being controlled, instead it created a brown-gold corona around her face, tangled and unconstrained. Her brow was furrowed as she looked down at some papers, doubtless her continued studying.

_Come up to meet you -_

Ron realized something that seemed almost absurd at first. And that was that it didn't make the slightest difference. 

_Tell you I'm sorry_ –

He looked at her, and it didn't matter to him that she wasn't polished and prepared and perfect like all the other girls. It didn't matter that her hair right now was larger than her head, and she was absent-mindedly chewing on a few strands. He looked at her and she was unutterably beautiful. 

_You don't know how lovely you are_ –

And he had never realized it before. He hadn't noticed her before that night when it was as if an angel was dancing with Viktor Krum. He had thought that was the only reason he had started to realize that Hermione Granger was always going to be more than a friend to him. But that was all wrong. It was all wrong. 

_I had to find you, tell you I need you_ –

Because that wasn't Hermione. The person who had sleek and gleaming hair, who walked almost primly in a gown of sapphire, who spent four hours to try and impress everyone, there was no use loving that person. Loving that person was – he understood everything so suddenly – a falsehood. 

_Tell you I set you apart_ –

You couldn't love someone because they made themselves into something different from themselves. He thought of how awed he had been by that form that was somehow Hermione as well as a complete stranger, and he felt a little sad that she had had to completely change herself for him to notice what was inside him. He tried to think of whether or not he would have gotten it without that little push. 

_Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions_ – 

He looked at her now and he felt as if he could go the rest of his life without seeing that other Hermione. Because he loved the way her hair refused to be conquered, and how her hands were perpetually ink-stained, creased with black, and how her robes always smelt dusty because she spent all her time with books. He thought she was the most beautiful thing on the earth, even if something behind all this love said to him that it wasn't really true. But that voice didn't matter at all, he could accept it and he _knew_ why she would always be the brightest thing for him, he knew why not once would he have asked her to do something new, or try to find some new robes. 

_Oh let's go back to the start_ -

He looked at her and it was oh so bittersweet, realizing just how much you loved someone and yet knowing that you would never hold them again. He felt as if somehow everyone in the room, despite how much he had envied them and their golden shapes only moments ago, was missing out on something, something spectacular that they would never see. It was Hermione and that was why – it wasn't because it surprised him that it was Hermione, because it was unexpected and sudden – instead it seemed the most natural thing in the world. It was Hermione. It was her essence, not something she had carved and moulded herself into, trying to show the world that she could be what they asked of her. 

_Running in circles, coming up tails_, _heads on a silence apart_ -

He wished he could somehow go back and try it all again; he would do some things differently, without doubt, and some things the same. If he could have another chance, he wouldn't have let a moment go by when he didn't understand just how precious the person he had been blessed with was. The days would go by like eternal blossoms, opening, but not fading at night into dim memories of happiness. 

_Nobody said it was easy_ –

He was so forlorn, sitting there at his table, alone, while others danced out their dreams on the clouded floor. He kept looking at her, very still, but if one could see his eyes, it was as if they were reaching somewhere we couldn't see, somewhere beyond our sight, yearning and longing and yet knowing that it is out of reach, overpowerfully wistful and filled with grief, remembering days long past. 

_It's such a shame for us to part_ - 

She never once looked up. There was no locking of eyes, whether it solved everything or only confirmed the irrevocable loss. She never noticed that his eyes were fastened on her form and that slightly moving head, quivering in the slightest as she worked. She was oblivious to the stream of consciousness being sent her way. It was almost more painful that way. 

_Nobody said it was easy_ –

Other people watched however. The wiser members of the staff, mostly, and a grave old man with a great beard looked on, and for once that twinkle in his eye was dimmed, and subdued, as it grew solemn and contemplative. A stern woman observed with sad tenderness that somehow suited the lines of her sharp face. They had always seen much more than people credited them with, and the people most definitely never dreamed of how much they cared. We cannot steal inside the thoughts of these, but there is a silent imploring as to why these things must happen, events drawn together by the uncaring fate. 

_No one ever said it would be this hard_ –

From far away he was merely a lanky boy, filled with a powerful grace he did not yet know he possessed. His red hair stood up in tufts over his smudged face, and he was consumed with an intensity, a last denied wishing that swallowed all the rest of him. Around him was a current of anguish trying to remember joy, sharp against the harmony of everyone else, and yet the most painfully beautiful thing there. Everyone who saw him was reminded of their loss, of their still tangible sorrow. 

_Oh, take me back to the start _–

Ron didn't know any of this. As he looked at her, his head swam with images of her, memories of her, the little nothings that couldn't be described and shouldn't make him want to cry like they did. All he could see was that girl with brown hair and chestnut eyes, whether she was laughing in that delighted and almost surprised way that made him want to make her laugh even more, or telling him with perfect seriousness and concern how to figure something out for Potions, or the way if you snuck a glance at her and she was sneaking one too, and your eyes met, she gave a sweet startled intake of breath that was like a blessing. 

_I was just guessing at numbers and figures_ – 

He could remember perfectly what it was like when he snaked his arms around her waist from behind and she didn't even jump, because she knew already it was him, with no moment in between. He remembered when they were in the library, and she was tired and fell asleep on his shoulder, with small breaths and a warmth that made him want to stay there forever, just watching her when she didn't know he was watching and drinking her very presence in. He thought that that one memory would be enough to live and die on, sitting there and almost being able to understand just how lucky he was. It had been forever, and yet he had known that it could not be forever, somehow, even then. 

_Pulling your puzzles apart_ – 

And for a brief fleeting moment he saw them as they could have been, without that miscalculated gesture of his. He saw them, nearly as ghostly as the swirling fog about them, but not fading, not dissipating. People brushed through them, yet they were all alone in that room, dancing with pale faces and shadowy robes, her face buried in his shoulder and his hand on the small of her back which seemed to fit perfectly. Sometimes Ron could see small intimate laughs, and smiles so blissful they broke his heart. They were dancing to a music that could not be heard by him; their feet perfectly in time, turning like music box figures. Even when he closed his eyes he could still see them, synchronized and flawless spirits. 

_Questions of science, science and progress_ – 

He wished he could tell her, tell her not ever to change, without even yet another plea for forgiveness that he knew did not deserve to be answered. Just a word, asking her to remain as she was, and when she grew up not to compromise herself for what she thought others would prefer, would suffice. The pain of that possibility was yet another ache in this throat. He wondered if it would all be easier if he could think that she was in the wrong, that she should take him back. When he knew inside that she shouldn't, that he couldn't bear hurting her again for whatever reason that he could not foresee. 

_Do not speak as loud as my heart_ –

And still she did not look up. If she had, would she have seen the truth in his eyes? He had been sure that it would work so many times before. He didn't hope this time. It was a desperate longing, one that goes against reason. It hurt to feel this much, a slow and steady throbbing in his heart. 

_Tell me you love me_ – 

The other Hermione and Ron in their other dimension, their other world where things had not strayed so badly, continued. They were all too distinct in Ron's eyes. Their dream-like and gentle dance haunted him; he tried to look the other way, but found himself drawn back to them, invisible to all but him. As a passing, regretful fancy he wanted to pass into their world, become completely the Ron that was there and leave this tortured vessel behind him. 

_Come back and haunt me_ – 

He could slide from it merely as a second skin, discarding the part of him that would betray her when all his heart said otherwise. He would walk over to that still twirling couple, and for just a moment look into the eyes of that other Ron – catch a moment of understanding – would that other Ron see a tormented wraith of himself, alone and grief-ridden? – and then easily, smoothly, slip into that other Ron, feel the hands holding Hermione become real, feel her skin himself. Have the misty world sharpen and harden and become what he longed it to be. 

_Oh and I rush to the start_ –

He knew, of course, how impossible this was. He let the dream linger anyway, in the stained halls of his mind. Before his eyes there hovered the two images, of what was, Hermione sitting oblivious, too oblivious, and what could have been, the eternal dancers. For a moment what had been hovered there as well, and he knew it had been real, and that made it all the worse.

_Running in circles, chasing tails, coming back as we are_ –

It was too hard to keep looking. But he did anyway, not wanting to find out that it could lessen, become something less grave.

_Nobody said it was easy_ –

_Oh it's such a shame for us to part_ –

He was a ship amongst the swirling tides of lovers. She was a rock upon which he would dash himself.

_Nobody said it was easy – _

_No one ever said it would be this hard_ –

The storm within his heart went on.

_I'm going back to the start._

The night faded. 


	15. Epilogue

Chapter 15: Epilogue

Dedication: To a different Epilogue. 

When the train pulled up, it was in much the same way that it had, time after time, taking them from the place that never failed to make someplace inside them grow. It always seemed like the irretrievable end of something.

In a compartment, close to the back, there was a boy with red hair. He was alone. There was no laughing friend as there was in other times; the emptiness seemed loud. He was looking far beyond the rolling green countryside. He was somewhere a long time ago. 

And a girl appeared, bushy-haired, taller but not that different from what she had always been. It startled him; he had been remembering much the same thing.

It was almost like it, this: like years ago when there was a smaller girl with hair that made a fine sun-spun halo around her head and a small, peaked face. She wasn't pretty, the boy had thought; but then he had seen her eyes. And then he would tell himself that she shouldn't have been pretty. 

It had been so very long; but maybe not long at all; maybe it had only been a moment. And so he waited for her to do as she had done, words tumbling in short order off her almost sharp mouth, much like her. She had tried not to care but it always showed through. 

Before she did sit down, maybe she was remembering too. A boy with red hair (still as red) and an expression that expected rejection. When he had looked up at her it had been as if he was asking something. She had answered it, very simply. But he still had the expression on his face at times, anticipating failure. She still wanted to wipe it away.

And so she sat down, her capable fingers scrabbling with each other. When she opened her mouth the words almost fell out – but not this time. They smiled at that.

This time her face seemed to ask _him something that he actually knew how to answer. And he was the only one who could._

And this time it wasn't glasses that needed fixing, it was hearts.

It was almost like a fairytale, he decided; except he wasn't the prince. He wondered if they should change it, maybe it would be better that way. He was going to say that but he looked at her face and he thought that maybe it didn't matter if he wasn't the prince. And just maybe that was why. Because the question mark of her eyes didn't seem to mind at all. 

And suddenly it all seemed so simple to him: like the past years and its complications had never even happened. It was so simple he knew its answer in a heartbeat, he didn't have to try; and so he reached out and took her sad white hand in his finally sure fingers. It was all he had ever needed to do. 


End file.
